Professionalism
by ChibiJaime
Summary: "Be polite. Be efficient. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet." RED Sniper Bailey has lived by that mantra, but a very young BLU Spy named Laurent is about to throw a wrench into his very carefully laid plans... COMPLETED - SLASHY - SniperxSpy
1. Chapter 1

"My mission is before me, my enemy is around me, my mission is death, my mission is met."

Bailey wasn't entirely sure where he had heard the old Sniper mantra, but it had served him well up to this point. He was tired and aching, his shoulders cramped, and the whole roost definitely needed a cleaning. Not that the place stunk – he was fastidious about making sure the place was as difficult to detect by scent as it was by anything else – but he did not like a messy work area.

Lonely, too, he noted, frowning as he gazed quietly through the scope of his rifle. His younger brother had been training with him up in this perch for weeks before leaving to move on to the intelligence point. Not that he minded. Flynn was a fantastic Sniper, better than he was, and he was happy to see him moving up in the world. Sniping wasn't a group profession anyway. It was one man against the world, and that was the way he preferred it.

It hadn't been more than a few minutes ago that he had company, though it was company he would've much rather done without. There were very few people Bailey hated, and he got along with most of the RED team out here protecting the control point, but the Spy was someone he just could not bring himself to see eye-to-eye with. Tristan was good at his job, and was often gone for days at a time infiltrating the BLU team's base to see what kind of intel he could gather on their next move, but his personal habits often got the Australian riled up more than he cared to admit.

Oh, he had tried to remind himself that it wasn't his business. He wasn't supposed to care who was banging who around here, but Tristan had taken an unpleasant liking for the newest member of their team, their new Scout Catherine. Cat was a very sweet young lady, with an emphasis on young. Bailey suspected she could be no older than eighteen, and he knew for a fact Tristan was into his thirties at least. The girl may have enjoyed coming up to annoy him in his perch, and he may have constantly threatened to throw her out the window, but he did enjoy her visits and she knew he would never hurt her. He really felt almost like he could treat her like a younger sibling, despite having a younger brother of his own and being aware of Cat's own seven older brothers. Her relationship with the RED Spy revolted him to the point of nausea.

When Tristan came up, it was a rare situation and Bailey hated it every single time. The Frenchman had a nasty habit of taking on a holier-than-thou attitude and his presence always tended to put Bailey in a horrible mood. In some ways, this made him better at his job as it made him even more eager to pop off some BLU bastards, but in others, it made him edgy and uncomfortable, and it wasn't how he wanted to spend his evenings.

He could hear shouting and gunfire below, and occasionally, the perch shook just slightly with the force of an explosion, either from Callum or the BLU team's Demoman. Hell, he mused, it could have just as easily been from either team's Soldier as well.

What was surprising, however, was the sound of someone climbing clumsily up the ladder to his perch. Bailey was immediately on the alert, sitting up straight and ducking into a darkened corner, keeping his gun trained on the doorway. If it was someone on his team, fine, he would slip out... but if not, they would have a very unwelcome greeting.

Surprise clearly registered on his face when a haggard figure finally staggered in, clutching his midsection, blood trickling between black gloved fingers and staining an already red suit. "Tristan?" When the Spy turned to him, expression wild, like some hurt animal... "...fuck."

Without giving the other man time to react, Bailey sprung to his feet, rushing forward to slam his fist directly into the unprotected jaw. The strike was enough to deactivate the disguise, and instead of a RED Spy stood a BLU one, slammed back into the wall and shaking slightly, his hands still clutched over his middle. "You're quick..."

"Would've had me all bailed up if I hadn't been paying attention, there," Bailey responded, tone a low growl. "You must be new. Trained Spy'd 've known I've got no love for our spook. Only time he'd come up here in a fight'd be t'put one in me."

The young man opposite him blinked a couple of times, giving the Sniper an appraising look. He was injured, pale blue eyes glassy from blood loss, but he clearly still had a grasp on the situation. "Foolish of me, zen. You have me cornered, bushman. My life is in your hands."

Instinctively, Bailey brought up his rifle, glaring through the scope at the man before him. It didn't surprise him to see the Spy so calm, but at the same time, something about this situation seemed uncomfortably unsporting. "I could kill ya. Put you outta yer misery like th' sorry figjam you are. Got a good clean shot..."

"Zen do it." Bailey tensed. The BLU Spy was looking back at him now, matching his gaze as he spoke. His face was pale but his expression remained calm, and the older man couldn't help but notice how young he looked, even with the balaclava blocking most of his features. "After all... you and I are both masters of killing when our enemies cannot fight back."

He shouldn't be hesitating. He shouldn't be hesitating and he knew it, but at the same time, he couldn't pull the trigger. Perhaps this was exactly what made Flynn such a good sniper, being able to shoot an enemy in the face point blank, but...

Finally, he growled, stalking forward. Without any warning, he made sure to completely disarm the Spy, causing him to make a few rather startled noises. The sounds of battle were already starting to wane and he had a feeling, judging by the hoots and hollers of his own team, that they had successfully defended their point. That meant he had even less time than before. "Yeah? Well unlike you, I prefer a good hunt. Not shootin' a kicked dog. You're a sorry mongrel, but I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction of a mercy kill. If I kill ya, it'll be splatterin' that worthless head'a yers across th'landscape when y'least expect it."

The unpleasant sound of pain the enemy Spy made when he finally picked him up actually made him smile a bit, even more than the rather surprised look on his face. "What in ze world are you doing?"

Bailey snorted, carefully balancing the Spy with one arm while climbing down to the ground level. His van was right behind the perch... perfect place to hide him. No one else ever went near the damn thing unless they planned to come up into the tower. "What's it look like? I already said I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction of a mercy kill. I prefer t'give a bloke a fair go. I'll get you good'n healthy, then let you run off like the backstabbin' coward you are. Then, when I got a good shot and a clear day? I'll put a bullet through yer skull."

The young man gave a derisive snort as the door to the camper van swung open and the pair headed inside. For several moments after that, neither one spoke. Bailey unceremoniously dumped his cargo onto an empty cot, smirking a bit at the grunt of pain it elicited, before he dragged out a first aid kit and set about patching up the stab wounds littering the BLU Spy's front.

"You have a terrible bedside manner," the Spy complained. "Like a nurse with a tendency toward sadism."

Bailey snorted, pulling hard on a bandage, tight enough to cause the BLU Spy to grunt again. "You earned that, mate. Now keep yer bloody mouth shut while I finish."

Though clearly frustrated, the BLU Spy turned his head away, scowling angrily the entire time Bailey patched up his injuries. They weren't as fatal as he was sure Tristan had likely intended them to be, if only because the younger Spy was most likely considerably lighter on his feet, appearing to be a good half head shorter and at least twenty pounds lighter than his own teammate. He was fair skinned naturally, which made his pallor from the loss of blood even more stark, and his pale blue eyes were intense enough to make even the jaded old Sniper look twice.

Part of him mused that it was likely exactly what the Spy wanted... to be considered like a human instead of some monster that prowled the night, seeking to end the lives of the unsuspecting through trickery and lies.

When he finally finished, he was rather proud of his work. Their Medic, a sweet girl named Idelia, had made sure the entire team knew at least basic first aid, and he had made sure to learn a bit more. It wasn't easy to get out of a sniper roost, after all, when you were bleeding out. As he sat back, the Spy turned his head to face him again, expression looking considerably less irritated than it had before. "Zo. Zis was your cunning plan? Hiding me in zis sorry excuse for a vehicle until you can properly shoot me in ze face?"

Bailey scowled, tipping his hat back to glare down at the Spy properly. "Are you really that bloody dense that I have to explain myself all over again?"

"No. But does this not seem somewhat... how do you say... abnormal for a RED operative? Harboring an enemy Spy?" The young man arched his brow. "Ze least you could do is offer me a cigarette, if you are to be keeping me hostage."

It took every ounce of willpower in Bailey's body not to slug the Spy again. "I don't smoke. So deal with it."

He got to his feet, moving to dig around in the cupboard when a noise outside caught his attention. With the lights on in the van, someone must have realized he was inside. With a quick, biting order to the Spy to stay put, he slipped outside and closed the door behind him just in time to see the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Callum – the RED team's Demoman – trotting in his direction. The dark-skinned Scot had a broad grin on his face, bottle of scrumpy held loosely in his left hand as the right came up for a cheery greeting.

"Oi! There y'are, Bailey! Cat tried hollerin' up to ye, but we figured you were jes' scannin' fer more'a them BLU knobdobbers on th'horizon." It was a wonder, Bailey mused as the Scotsman continued to speak, that he ever actually understood what the happily drunk demolitions expert was saying. "C'mon now. 'ave a round with us! T'ain righ' fer ye t'hole yerself up ou' here with no company."

The draw of having a drink was pretty strong after the evening he'd had, but Bailey just shook his head. "Nah. I'm damn stuffed. Prolly gonna call it a night soon as you head back."

If he hadn't been absolutely positive the Demoman was completely and totally hammered, Bailey probably would have suspected the look he was given to be a scrutinizing one. Instead, he took it for what it was, and smiled when the Scotsman grinned and clapped him on the shoulder firmly. "If y'say so. Rest easy!"

He waited until the other man was well out of sight to head back into the van, only to find the Spy watching him with a rather amused expression. He did not appear to have moved, but the Sniper did not trust Spies in the least. "What's so funny, spooky?"

"Bailey is your name, zen?" As soon as the Spy spoke, the Sniper flinched. Damn Callum for being so loud when he was sloshed. "What a nice name. Bailey. Rolls off ze tongue rather pleasantly."

The Sniper scowled. "You shut yer damn mouth... dirty yobbo..." His lip curled up in a sneer as he grabbed two cans and walked to the hot plate. "Bad enough I gotta look atcha till yer belly heals up. Don't wanna hafta listen t'yer fool mouth th'whole time, too."

Though the young Spy at first quieted at the scolding, he didn't once take his eyes off the Sniper as he worked. "It is Laurent, by the way."

Bailey stopped, turning away from the hot plate and the pan full of soup to give the Spy a long look. "What'd you just say?"

"My name," the younger man replied. "It is Laurent. Since we are being agreeable, we may as well be civil as well."

That had not been at all what Bailey was expecting. Laurent's expression was completely unreadable with that balaclava on, and at least so far, he'd been completely unwilling to remove the damn thing. So the Sniper sighed and turned back to the counter, grimacing a bit. "Right. So Laurent it is, then." Stopping to pour the heated soup into two mugs, he headed back over and plunked back into his seat, setting both on a nearby stool as he worked to prop up the Spy. "Don't get too used t'this treatment. I'll be nice to ya, but don't expect me t'spoon feed you or any shit like that."

Laurent tipped his head back slightly, giving a grunt of pain as his midsection was strained by the movement. Once he was settled, he gave a weak smile. "I would never dream of asking you to do such a thing anyway."

Though Bailey wasn't entirely convinced, he handed Laurent a mug full of soup anyway. Not surprisingly, the balaclava did not come off and the Spy sipped the soup in silence, not looking up once the entire time. When he was done, he simply placed the mug out of the way and leaned back, glancing down at his torso, bringing up a gloved hand to touch the bandages only a few shades lighter than his skin.

"Shouldn't mess with that." Bailey didn't even lift his head as he spoke, lower half of his face partially obscured by his own mug. "...so how'd you manage t'get yerself on the wrong side of ol' Tristan's knife?"

This time, Laurent's face went from calm and casual to downright vicious, pale eyes fixing on the Sniper so sharply that Bailey actually drew back, blinking in surprise. "Zat is not important, nor is it for you to know," he pointed out in a tone that was very nearly a hiss. "I'm tired, and I have lost a great deal of blood. I need to sleep. I suppose zat while we are being civil, I can trust you not to kill me while I rest?"

Bailey leaned back in his seat, lowering his unfinished mug. Narrowing his eyes, he sighed and stood, collecting the other mug and walking over to drop both into the sink. "Only if I can trust you not t'kill me. I've go' a job t'do, even if it's dark out."

The Spy said nothing, only going still as Bailey removed the extra pillows from beneath his head and settling with his eyes shut once he was prone again. It took a long moment for Bailey to be convinced that he was genuinely asleep. He had seen more than enough people feigning sleep to keep from being attacked or noticed to be able to identify the signs, but Laurent's chest was rising and falling slowly, eyes closed lightly.

This wasn't right. He couldn't shake that feeling. He should not have been doing this at all, and his gut continued to insist that he should have just shot the Spy where he stood instead of bringing him down here. His kukri was in reach... he could end this so quickly. Just one quick downward slice. That's all it would take.

His jaw tightened as he looked at the Spy laying in the spare cot, narrowing his eyes. Just do it, he told himself. Just do it and end it now. With luck, BLU wouldn't realize for some time that their Spy was dead and that would give RED just the advantage they needed to push the dirty bastards back from the control point.

He lifted his chin, staring down his nose at Laurent's still form before his eyes flicked over to the kukri nearby. Just one chop...

* * *

Laurent woke the next morning with a start, blinking his pale eyes at the unfamiliar ceiling as the world came back to sudden, unpleasant clarity. He was in a great deal of pain, but that much was easy to ignore. He hadn't trained as a Spy for nothing, after all. What was most disconcerting was that this was clearly not his room at the BLU base. This was...

Right. This was that crazy bushman's camper van. He had tried to hide out in the sniper perch and the man had been a fair bit smarter than he expected. The Frenchman frowned, looking around the room curiously. He had not been tied down, which surprised him a bit, and the room was strangely devoid of anything weapon-like. He didn't even see his suit jacket anywhere.

The Sniper was also suspiciously absent. It didn't exactly settle his mind to think that the gruff hunter was somewhere hiding, waiting for him to just try and leave, despite the fact that a little voice in the back of his mind hissed that this strange man would very likely never do anything of the sort. The kukri he'd seen on the way in the night before still lay in its usual place.

He was just contemplating sitting up when the back door swung open again and the Sniper strode in, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Laurent hadn't noticed before, but the RED operative was actually quite tall and lean, all long arms and legs and very little in the way of extra weight. Honestly, from the way his face was made, he looked almost gaunt.

"See you're up finally," he was saying, taking off his hat to shake water from it. "Got us a nasty rainstorm out there. Came up outta nowhere... not too bad. We needed a good rain. Means a ceasefire, an' I don't have t'spend my day up there."

Laurent arched his brow thoughtfully, blinking at Bailey. "Zen why go up zere at all? Why not simply stay in here and keep dry?"

The Sniper snorted, placing his slouch hat aside to dry as he walked toward a partition, grabbing a dry red shirt as he went. "Place up there was getting' filthy. Took th'time t'clean it. I'm an assassin, not some wasted old dero." He grunted a bit, moving behind the partition to change, tossing the soggy shirt and vest out from behind it absently. "Sleep all right?"

The question caught Laurent off-guard and he blinked, tipping his head faintly to one side. "Ah... yes. I'm sorry. I slept fine." He shifted a bit when Bailey stepped back out, buttoning up his shirt. "I'm surprised you asked."

"What? Think I'm bloody 'eartless or somethin'? You're a BLU, but that don't mean you ain't human. Told ya I was gonna get ya back in workin' shape, so I am." Grabbing a box, he sat down, digging out what appeared to be a granola bar to offer the Spy. "Here you are, spooky. Sorry it ain't nothin' fancy. I live pretty simple out here."

Laurent didn't object to the offered food, at the very least. He wasn't extremely hungry, but he was also smart enough to know he needed to eat in order to heal properly. After noting that the Sniper was eating from the same box and the packaging hadn't been tampered with, he settled into the dry bar. It was hard to process, thinking that someone he had spent the entirety of his career learning to kill could possibly be such a soft, gentle individual. The thought unsettled him and he shuddered, sinking back into the pillows. "You are certainly not what I have come to expect of Snipers."

He arched his brow when Bailey smiled, pushing his sunglasses up so that they sat atop his head. Despite his age – he had to be at least in his late 30s, pushing 40 if not already there, Laurent assumed – he still had a sort of youthful liveliness about him. Dark brown eyes focused on him for a long moment. "Expectin' me t'be some kinda crazy bushman, makin' my clothes outta skins and crawlin' on all fours? I'm a professional, mate. I have standards."

"Well... yes." All at once, Laurent's eyes widened and he grimaced, sinking back further. "Non, non, I did not mean it zat way, I simply meant... no, it has nothing to do with your rather impeccable sense of cleanliness, I assure you. It was more... you are simply kinder zan I was expecting."

Bailey seemed to relax a bit at that comment. "Well... my mum raised me right. Got a little brother who's not too different, but he's a better shot. You're pretty tin-arsed it weren't him up here. Little bastard woulda really nailed you one, no questions asked."

The comment did not answer any of Laurent's questions. All it really did was pose new ones, and the first one was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Zo... why didn't you?" Bailey lifted his head, clearly startled as he gazed at the younger man. When he didn't reply, Laurent pressed on. "Why did you not take the shot? You go on about keeping things clean... not giving me ze pleasure of a mercy kill..."

"You told me last night that what happened with you an' Tristan wasn't my business." When Bailey interrupted, Laurent blinked, looking at him in surprise. The Sniper's expression had hardened from the kind, easy smile he'd worn before. Now he looked his age, weather worn and world weary. "This time it's my turn. I didn't wanna off you without you havin' a fair go, an' unless I say otherwise, I ain't changin' my story. Am I clear, spooky?"

Laurent frowned, tipping his head up as his jaw tightened. This man was far too difficult to read and it was starting to infuriate him. Once he was well enough, he would solve that problem very quickly. "Transparent."

It wasn't long before the rain stopped, which prompted Bailey to get up and head back outside. All of this suited Laurent just fine, as the Sniper had not been particularly talkative at that point anyway. He seemed more interested in sulking about, which frustrated the young Spy even further. He could not fathom why the Sniper was behaving like a bipolar bear.

Maybe it was better if he never did.

* * *

Bailey hadn't been up in the perch long when the sound of someone rapidly scaling the ladder caught him off-guard. It couldn't have possibly been Laurent. The Spy was still far too weak to be doing scaling on that magnitude and Tristan was much heavier. Which meant only one person.

Turning just slightly, he scowled at the tiny figure of Cat bounding up into the loft, her round baby face all but exploding with a sunny smile, showcasing her two prominent front teeth. She cut a rather silly sight, and cute as she was, he couldn't help but wonder why Tristan was so fascinated with her other than the fact that he got his rocks off with younger women... or that she was as close as he could get to some sick fantasy.

Pushing down a renewed desire to beat the everliving crap out of Tristan, he forced a tight smile at the tiny Scout. "Hey there, scoot. What brings you up here?"

"Callum said you turned down drinkin' last night," the girl chirped pleasantly, hopping up to sit on the edge of the window. "That's not like you. You always come down and drink with us when we kick some BLU ass. You not feelin' good?"

Bailey just snorted, pulling his hat down to shield his eyes from the midday sun. "I'm feelin' fine, you little gremlin. And don't even think of suggestin' I see Idelia. She's a sweet girl, but she's got more t'worry about than an old bloke hidin' out in his perch. Why're you up here, anyway?"

The tiny girl just smiled, leaning back with her legs stretched in front of her. It wasn't so much that she looked so young, he realized. She was always moving, and as a result, her whole form was lithe and tough, sturdy muscles rippling just under the surface. For as childish as she may have appeared, it was a constant reminder that she truly was not a child at all. "I came up here to see what you were doing, mostly. Tristan said BLU's not doing anything right now... too busy licking their wounds. You don't have to sit up here and drink that swill you call coffee all day."

The Sniper didn't reply at first, lifting his head to give the still grinning Scout a rather sour look. "You're feisty today, aren't you? You an' Tristan have a go this mornin'?"

All at once, Cat's cheeks heated up and she puffed up a bit, smile disappearing as her cheeks turned almost as red as her shirt. "That's a low blow, Bailey! Besides, what Tristan and I do in our spare time is none of your business!"

He couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was just how much time he'd spent with that idiot Spy down in his van so far – as little as it was, he realized, it felt like a lifetime – but the way Cat had immediately gone on the defensive reminded him very much of Laurent. He grinned and stood. "You're a piece'a work, Cat. Jes' messin' with ya. Not tryin' t'get on ya." He smiled and cuffed her shoulder gently, to which she responded by sticking out her tongue. "Now, now. No need t'get all clucky with me. What do you even do when you don't gotta go 'round beatin' the skulls of those BLU mongrels?"

Though she still looked sulky, Cat did her best to school her expression to indifference, rocking forward a bit. "Usually I read. Mom sends me all kinds of books, and each one of my brothers writes me a letter. Not just one big letter, either... I get a letter from each one of 'em. Don't you and Flynn keep in touch?"

Bailey pursed his lips. "...not as often as I'd like. I talk to our parents more. Anyway... you're a spry kid. Got myself a bit of an ache in the ol' noggin. Care runnin' back to Idelia an' getting' an old man some asprin?"

"Old man, he says," Cat mocked, more to herself than anything, as she slid down from her perch, stretching briefly. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be back in no time. By the way, I can hear Sydney barking in your van. Did you remember to feed him this morning?"

Sydney! Bailey had to resist the urge to wince. That Spy was locked up in the camper with nothing more than his mangy old cattle dog to keep him company, and he hadn't even told him the dog was there. This, he reckoned, was most certainly going to end poorly. "I'll go do that now. When ya get the asprin, just leave it up here. Gonna get washed up once I feed the old mutt and I don't want you walkin' in on me arse naked."

Cat shrugged and was down the ladder before he'd even gotten completely pushed away from the wall. Once he saw her sprinting back to the base, he gave a sigh and headed into the van where Sydney was baying happily. Laurent, he was amused to discover, was just staring at the dog in surprise, eyes wide. Bailey couldn't help but grin. "I see you've met my bluey. Don't mind Sydney. He's a good boy... just a big baby who don't care much for not havin' any attention. Ain't that right, Sydney?"

As he reached down to scrub the dog's ears gently, Laurent gave an indignant huff. "Forgive me for being so surprised. I was not expecting you to have a trained attack dog here."

"Attack dog? Hah! Sydney wouldn't hurt a flea unless it was by accident." He moved to the side, away from the Spy, to grab a can of dog food. "He mostly just sleeps on me when it gets cold out here. An' let me tell ya... it gets bloody cold. Got plenty of extra blankets, though, so you should be all right."

The Spy snorted a bit, watching as the dog trotted off after his master, tail wagging fiercely behind him as he snuffled about for his breakfast. "I never really noticed ze weather."

Bailey gave him a long-suffering scowl, though his expression tried to stay as calm as it could. "Well, that's fair. Your team don't live in a barn."

Laurent couldn't help but cringe at that. He did have to admit, BLU team had a considerably more modern set-up than the REDs, whose rustic outposts resembled something one might find falling over sideways in the American Midwest and South. He had never really considered that it may be uncomfortable for them, however. For all the time he'd been with BLU, he'd always suspected it was just the way RED preferred to live.

It just hadn't occurred to him that maybe they lived this way because they really didn't have any other choices available to them. He frowned. He should not be feeling guilty... and he most certainly should not have been so focused on something that wasn't getting well, getting out, and giving this Sniper the balisong to the back he so rightly deserved. "Zo. I suppose I shall have to deal with your company for the entirety of the day."

"Seems that way. At least till I hear that little gremlin run up to the tower. Gotta get the asprin I had 'er go get." He sat back a little, then leaned down, lifting the bandages near Laurent's midsection. The Spy jumped visibly when cold hands brushed his stomach, fixing the other man with a very careful look. "Well, still pretty nasty under here. Then, it's only day too. I reckon this'll mend just fine."

Laurent scowled. He didn't much care for being handled when he didn't expect it, and this fell quite neatly under being handled. Not that he could really grouse or complain. The Sniper was only checking his injuries, and he knew there were very few people who would take such extreme care in this kind of situation. "Your hands are like ice."

Bailey snorted. "Jes' had my hands on a chilled can'a dog food. What're you expectin'? Mittens?" He readjusted the bandages carefully. "You're thin as nothin'. I've seen sick dingoes with more meat on 'em than you've got. Is that part'a yer Spy trainin'?"

Indignant, Laurent simply looked away. "What made up my training is top secret. A man simply needs to be thin enough to get into small areas when you do a job like mine."

The Sniper leaned back a little in his seat after that, making a thoughtful sound. "Top secret, eh? Where d'you think I got my trainin'?"

"At a shooting gallery?" Laurent returned dryly.

Rolling his eyes, Bailey leaned back. "Very funny. Got my trainin' the ol' fashioned way. Shootin' big game out in the GOFA. Decent enough, and it made me a pretty good shot."

That made Laurent lean back a little bit, his expression somewhat uncomfortable. There was one thing about a man who was capable of killing anyone at a distance just by pinpointing a spot on their forehead and pulling the trigger, but the fact that he had learned it just by shooting large animals in an unforgiving location - he assumed that GOFA must have been some strange Australian slang for a very wild place - gave him a chill up his spine that he was unable to surpress, his shoulders drawing in slightly as he glanced away. "Learning by doing, zey call it?" He tipped his head back. "I wish I could say I was not surprised. You do seem like ze sort of man to be able to do such a thing, however."

"It takes a different kind of man to be able to kill without thinkin' about it. You can't let yerself get distracted by the work that's thrown atcha. Ya gotta just... plug ahead, I s'pose is the best way t'put it. I don't reckon you'd get it, what with all this skulkin' around in alleys and stabbin' blokes in th'back when they don't hear ya comin' business." He paused when Sydney ambled up to him with a sleepy yawn, plunking his head on his master's leg. Bailey quietly obliged to scratching his ears. "Don't think I could do that myself. Spies, y'always gotta watch yer back. Me? Folks know there's gotta be a Sniper somewhere."

Laurent arched his brow at that, leaning back to give Bailey an appraising look. "No. I don't think zere is as much difference between us as you think." When Bailey looked at him, he smiled a little. "Look at it zis way. When I go to kill someone, I hide in plain sight. I either disguise myself as a teammate or cloak myself entirely in order to get close. You? You hide up here, in plain sight. Anyone could see you if zey looked close enough, but no one cares to. Why? Who knows. I just know we both have jobs much more similar than either of us may truly expect."

The two men looked at each other for a long moment after that, dark brown meeting icy blue, but finally, Bailey smirked. "Think that's how it works, do ya? You and I bein' that much alike? Ain't true. We're two different men, you and me. me? Like I said... I'm a professional. Ain't many could do what I do. Ain't many could do what you do. And neither one of us is capable of doin' what th'other can without a whole hell of a lotta trainin', so let's not fool ourselves, right?"

He smirked and stood, walking over to a nearby coffee pot to set it to boil as Laurent watched him curiously. He knew he was right. Snipers and Spies, they were much more alike than the Sniper perhaps cared to admit, but it was a fact Laurent was very aware of. No one cared to be backstabbed or sniped. No one really liked the jobs they did, either, and they had become fast, mortal enemies under the best of circumstances. As soon as a Spy was uncloaked on the field, a Sniper's first job was to take them out. Alternately, a Spy could sometimes turn a battle around by taking out a Sniper who was picking off sentries and crippling Scouts.

No, the Sniper and the Spy were more alike than he had ever previously considered. Perhaps that was why they could never properly get along. Just too many similarities for the two to ever cooperate on the level.

"I simply cannot figure you out, Bailey. One moment, you are ready to take off my head... and ze next, you are joking and laughing like we are old friends. Do you have... what is ze word... multiple personalities or something?"

What answered him first was a puzzled expression. Bailey glanced over his shoulder at him, lifting his head to rub the back of his head for a moment. "I'unno. Can't say you make much sense t'me, either. Tristan barely ever says two words t'me without tossin' in an insult jes' t'see if he can get my hackles up. I'd say he's the only person Sydney don't like. Says a lot that he seems to be pretty okay with you. No better judge'a character, my dad always said, than a dog. They know what's in yer head. If a dog don't like ya, ain't many people who would."

Laurent smiled a little at that, glancing down at the dog that was now sitting next to him and giving him anxious, pining, longing looks. Finally, he tugged off one of his gloves and reached over, allowing the dog to sniff his palm before rubbing his head lightly. "I always did prefer dogs myself. It would seem you and I have at least one thing in common. Rather unusual, non?"

Bailey chuckled at that, leaning back against the counter so he could look back over at Laurent. "Nah, not really. Y'know 'ow you said I'm not what you expected out of a Sniper? Well. You sure as hell ain't exactly what I expected of a Spy. I reckon I'm a pretty good judge'a character an' while you might work fer BLU, I don't think yer that much of a problem. Jes' a new guy what don't quite know he's on the wrong side yet."

"Sides. Hmph." Laurent scowled, his lips twisting into a sneer as he narrowed his eyes. "Does anyone even really remember what zis whole silly conflict is all about? No one seems to have been able to tell me."

The Sniper just shrugged. "Beats me. If anyone remembers what this whole mess is about, no one's talkin'. Suits me fine, though. I've got a good job and a roof over my 'ead, good friends and food on my table. Pay's good, too. I don't question a job what lets me keep my family healthy and safe back home in Australia. Don't tell me you'd think of backin' out?"

The camper van was quiet for a long moment as Laurent took on a rather affronted expression, lifting his chin indignantly. "Back out? Hah! Those are a coward's words. I have my contract and I will never give up until I am dead... or until I have assisted my team of spilling the blood of as many RED operatives as possible, and I may retire in peace to the city of my birth."

"Don't think I'd ever go back home," Bailey commented. Laurent gave him a strange look, but Bailey just shrugged and continue. "M'serious. Australia's my homeland an' all, but there's a great big world out there, all full of adventure. There's good huntin' in Africa and the American west. Who knows? Maybe I'll find me a nice girl... settle down somewhere..."

He trailed off, leaning to the side as both of them heard the unmistakable sounds of someone scurrying up into the sniper nest. "Your friend?"

Bailey nodded. "Yeah. Guess I'd best go up and get that asprin for ya. Figure you must be in a world'a hurt. Lay still, a'ight?"

He did not give Laurent time to respond, instead doffing his hat and slipping out in silence, leaving Laurent alone with his thoughts. He hadn't expected this at all. The man was all at once infuriating and intriguing, but... what was he supposed to do?

Left alone with his thoughts, it was all Laurent could do to sit and boil, wondering over why exactly he had been shown such kindness by someone who should have been trying to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. To be honest, Laurent was surprised he'd managed to stay sane through it, staring mournfully at the ceiling of the camper van. The place wasn't nearly as much of a dump as he'd imagined it to be on his first time seeing it, with the interior being surprisingly neat and tidy. Part of him mused that perhaps Bailey was just a smidge OCD, always making sure nothing was out of place. For the whole of today so far, however, his only company had been Sydney. The blue cattle dog was moping about distractedly, laying on the young Spy's legs with a look of great displeasure. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the dog, but at least it was better than staying down here alone while gunfire and explosions reigned outside.

He wondered if any of his team even noticed he was missing. It hadn't been long since the Spy before him had gotten killed, further proof that angering a Medic was a terrible idea, but surely he wasn't so easy to forget. Then there was what Bailey had said about the RED Spy, Tristan, disappearing for sometimes weeks at a time, supposedly even during times of combat like this.

A frown crossed his face and he lifted a gloveless hand to pull off his balaclava, revealing a mess of short cropped, platinum blond hair beneath, before lightly tracing the scar that cut across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, a sour reminder of a meeting that felt a lifetime ago. It almost felt like he'd swallowed a cup of ice. He'd let his guard down then, too, hadn't he?

For a moment, he froze, blinking as Sydney lifted his head to look toward the door with his ears perked up. He made no sound of greeting and his tail did not wag, and in Laurent's mind, that was as good as saying that whoever was there was not supposed to be. Someone from BLU team, perhaps?

No. No, they wouldn't have been able to get this close to the Sniper's loft without him seeing them and ending the threat rather immediately. He went perfectly quiet and still, listening intently. There were no footsteps... and just as quickly as he had been alerted, Sydney yawned and plunked his head back on his paws. Laurent's heart was racing in his chest, no matter how hard he tried to calm himself. Who had come so close? It couldn't have been Bailey. The battle was still raging outside and he was well aware the Sniper would not come down from his loft until he was certain all the RED control points were safe.

It was a thought that honestly caused his gut to clench. He certainly didn't dislike Bailey. He was surprisingly gentle and a pretty friendly guy, but the thought of RED up there gaining an upper hand because he was presently unable to really do anything but sit and wait for his wounds to heal without the assistance of a Medic... it was downright unacceptable. He should be out there gathering intelligence, fighting the good fight... but no, he was stuck here!

Just when he thought his mood couldn't get any more sour, Sydney all at once leapt off the bed with a happy bark, rushing back and forth by the door. It was only then that he realized that the sounds of combat had finally tapered off and all that was left was the sound of the excited dog pawing at the door as his master headed "home," and the unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.

Bailey looked haggard when he stepped in... or at least more than usual. His lined face was tired, and a clear 5 o'clock shadow was present, indicating just how long he had been sitting up in his tower with no company other than himself. When he looked toward Laurent, he blinked a few times, pulling off his sunglasses to secure them on the brim of his hat. "...first time I've seen you without that damn mask." At first, Laurent hadn't the foggiest what he was talking about until it struck him. He had removed his balaclava before the Sniper had come back down and completely forgotten to put it back on. Just as he was about to scramble to pull it back onto his head, Bailey crossed the small enclosure in two long strides and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Easy, mate. I'm not gonna go tellin' th'whole world what you look like. It'd out me as well as you, and I don't think either of us need that kind of attention."

Though startled, Laurent obligingly lowered the balaclava back to his lap, a wry smile crossing his face. "I am surprised you haven't mentioned my age, to be honest. I know I cannot look very old."

"Age don't mean much when you're stabbin' folks, yeah?" Bailey inquired, though Laurent was aware it was more statement than anything else. "B'sides, we've got Cat, an' she ain't much older than eighteen. Though... I'd reckon you're not much older than she is. Don't got th'look of an older man, save that scar there. Maybe, what... early 20s?" The young Spy nodded a little as Sydney finally started to settle down, plopping down onto his haunches with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. It was such a comical sight that he almost didn't notice that Bailey was giving him a rather appraising look. "How old would you wager a guess on me?"

Startled, the young man lifted his head to look at Bailey just as the Sniper took the time to remove his slouch, looking right back with a totally blank expression. He was an interesting sight, tall and lean with a sort of lithe grace about him. His face was lined, tired, and weather-worn, though he didn't necessarily appear to be old. Not that old, at least, despite the flecks of gray that peppered his dark hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck to keep the length – just past his shoulders – out of the way. Long face, an aquiline nose, a strong jaw...

"Thirty-five." He pursed his lips, thoughtful, then nodded. "Yes. Definitely around thirty-five."

Bailey grinned a bit. "Close. M'thirty-eight. 'bout t'be thirty-nine soon." He pulled up his chair, sinking into it with a groan that turned into a relieved sigh. "Some folks say I'm getting' too old for this job. I say I'm only too old for it when I'm good an' dead." He gave a light smile, completely disregarding any questions Laurent may have had, giving the younger man no time to respond. "So. Who's 'ungry?"

* * *

A good battle was always good for the senses. It made one sharper, more alert. In the case of a Spy, it kept the adrenaline going, reminding them that the slightest mistake could mean death. In Tristan's case, it reminded him of one very simple fact: he had followed the blood trail from that willowy young BLU Spy and discovered he had not headed back to the BLU base.

He was a practical man, of course. He has his suspicions. But he wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Besides, there were considerably more important things to worry about right now. He shifted, stretching the muscles in his sides as a bare back rested against his ribcage. Smiling, he reached down to brush the pads of his long fingers against a slim, well formed hip. "I thought you were asleep, ma bichette. Between ze battle and ze bedroom, I would have thought you exhausted."

The small, slim Scout beside him stretched with a pleasant sound as he spoke, giving him a rather fussy look out of the corner of her eye. "Hmph. Where were you at, anyway? I thought you were gonna come straight back here once the shootin' stopped."

"I had some things to take care of. You know how it is, chaton. I am, after all, a Spy." He turned onto his side, dark hair falling into his eyes with the movement. Cat was looking up at him with one of those sweet smiles on her round little face. What a cute little vision she was. She didn't even look eighteen. "You look as though something is bothering you. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

The girl blinked at him, then stretched again, hands behind her head. Shamelessly, as she searched for words, Tristan let his eyes drift over her compact frame, every muscle toned and powerful. The way she dressed, no one else could tell. "Bailey, mostly," she replied, turning her face toward him. "He's been kinda distant the past few days. He usually'll drink with Callum in the evenings, but now..."

She trailed off as Tristan reached down, idly toying with her hair. So he wasn't the only one who'd noticed it. It wasn't just a matter of what was going on, anymore, but a genuine matter of something very serious going down in their little personal corner of hell. Perhaps what he'd suspected had been correct. It would bear further investigation. He didn't necessarily need to report back, he mused, but this would at least give him something to do between confrontations with BLU Team. He smiled a bit as Cat shifted and turned her head, giving him a better angle to trail the pads of callused fingers down her smooth jawline, smiling when she shivered.

"Your hands are cold!" she protested, pushing at his arm. "And if you keep that up you're gonna start tickling me and we'll wake everybody up."

Tristan chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead lightly. "No one is there to wake up, ma bichette. It is still midday. We managed to hold off BLU quite well, I think. At least we have that much to consider."

Cat made an obliging noise, though he had a feeling she wasn't entirely convinced. Of course, he was, but he knew there were levels here and he had to be very careful not to tip the scale too early. Settling beside her again, he propped himself up on his elbow. "Perhaps Bailey is just lonely. He needs a nice woman. Of course, I believe all the nice women in our camp are rather preoccupied with dashing Spies and... and, well, with Heavies."

"Nothing nice to say about Artyom?" questioned the petite Scout, looking up at her companion with a rather wry expression. "That somehow doesn't surprise me."

Distracted from his thoughts of what Bailey may've been up to in that camper van of his, Tristan blinked a couple of times before wrinkling his nose, reaching for his disguise kit next to the makeshift bed to fetch a cigarette. "He is grossly obese. His "Ideshenka" is trying to get him to lose weight, but... well, I do not believe we could properly call him a Heavy if he suddenly became lightweight." Several moments passed as he lit the cigarette, taking a long draw. "What do you think became of ze BLU Spy?"

That caused a menacing chuckle to come out of the small girl, which caused Tristan to grin broadly. She was capable of being such a malicious little thing when she wanted to be; there was no doubt of that. "Well, with any luck, you put enough holes in 'im that he didn't get too far. Maybe he fell into the old Well and died. Guess that wouldn't be too good a thing, though... that'd mean we wouldn't have any drinkin' water."

"Mm. True, true. I do not believe he has died at all." When Cat looked at him rather sideways, Tristan took another long draw from his cigarette, freeing one hand to lightly run over her shoulder and down her long, slim arm. "I have my reasons, chaton. Any Spy good enough to make it zis far is clearly troublesome. I was rather surprised by how tenacious he was, despite how young he appeared. Rather a good challenge, non?"

Cat pursed her lips, huffing a bit as she squirmed under his attentions. "If you say so. Yer really the only Spy I trust. It ain't easy to trust a Spy, y'know."

Chuckling, Tristan kissed her shoulder, letting his lips linger before trailing further down. "It could not be because I am so dashingly handsome and polite, could it, ma bichette?" When the girl shivered, he chuckled, nuzzling where her neck met her shoulder. "We have a while before BLU regroups. Let us make ze most of it."

* * *

"A headache again, I see." Bailey almost cringed at how dry Idelia's voice sounded, her head bent low over Callum's leg as she extracted a bullet. The Demoman gave a cheery wave in the general direction of the Sniper when he walked in, though Bailey suspected he was too drunk to notice that his leg had been reduced to so much meat byproduct. "Really, you should let me take a much... closer look. I am certain I could find ze source of ze pain."

That time, he did cringe. Idelia was something of a medical prodigy, having achieved her PhD at the fresh young age of 21, but there was a very fine line between genius and insanity, and he was pretty sure the young woman had crossed that line several years ago, before even joining this team. Not that she wasn't nice to look at. She had thick, dark hair that hung past her shoulders in ringlets and spirals, falling into her face and obscuring her when she was acting shy. Her eyes were smoky gray, and it was no surprise at all why Artyom had immediately taken to her sweet, gentle nature.

Anyone who knew how she could behave toward BLU, however, knew very well that her sweet, gentle nature was not quite as sweet or as gentle as anyone claimed, and the only person she was truly genuine with was Artyom. Her "Bärchen." Everyone else was pretty much wasted material to her, only good for shooting at the other team or occasionally providing an outlet for her twisted fascination with injury and pain.

Clearing his throat, he moved toward the medicine cabinet to retrieve the bottle of small asprin capsules, lifting his chin slightly. "That won't be necessary, Idelia. Thanks." She shrugged as he rummaged, doing his best not to look at her or notice the precise care she was taking with extracting the bullets from Callum's leg with painful slowness. "Where's Artyom at?"

Idelia smiled a little bit, and for once, he could tell it was a genuine expression on her pretty face. "He is actually resting for a bit. He did a fantastic job on ze field today... all but single-handedly kept ze BLU Heavy off ze Control Point, but he was injured. Nothing serious... I vas able to patch him up fairly well with little to no trouble." She pulled on a fresh pair of sterilized gloves, reaching for the case holding her surgical suture supplies. "He vill sleep for a little while, zen likely wake up wanting a sandvich as alvays."

There was a hint of fondness in her voice that almost caught Bailey off-guard. With her behavior, he sometimes forgot that she was as vicious as an angry kangaroo. She truly did love Artyom, no matter how odd it must have seemed to everyone else for such a slender, attractive woman to be so deeply in love with a man quite easily several times her size. "Didn't get a good look m'self. They were stayin' outta range of me. Prob'ly didn't wanna have their 'eads turned t'so much mush after what I did t'their last Spy."

"Mm, ja," Idelia agreed absently. "Zough... I did not see zeir Spy anywhere nearby zis time. Normally ze Spies tend to target me first. Take out ze Medic, zey say." She settled into stitching up Callum's leg as the Scotsman hummed some drinking song to himself, completely nonplussed by the situation at hand. "It is rather strange... wouldn't you agree?"

At that, her smoky eyes found Bailey's and locked there, almost as if looking right through him. It wasn't possible that the Medic suspected... was it? No. No, it couldn't be. She was brilliant, a genius, but not smart enough to know that he was being stupid enough to hide the enemy Spy in his camper and nurse him back to health. It was a decision he was still trying to figure out himself. Oh, sure, Laurent's company was nice enough, granted that the Spy hadn't once tried to kill him in their entire time having to room in such close proximity. And there was also the fact that Sydney liked him enough to sleep on his legs at night when Bailey was taking long shifts on watch up in the nest. The look on Idelia's face, however, was searching.

She didn't know. She was just trying to find out. "Didn't say it weren't," replied the Sniper. Maybe the bloke got 'imself killed. Did look pretty young, eh?"

Idelia nodded a little bit. "Not quite as young as Catherine, but yes, quite young. I understand Tristan cornered him. I would say you may be right, considering. Tristan is very, very good at his job. Zough I cannot help but think ze boy may have someone gotten away." A deft knot and a quick snip with a pair of scissors and Callum was patched up. "Zere you are, Callum. Please try not to get scrumpy all over my tables when you stand up."

The Demoman, still mostly oblivious to the conversation being had, gave a sort of drunken salute before climbing to his feet and staggering off toward his room. Bailey, looking at this as the perfect distraction, turned on his heel and started to leave. "Welp... I need t'be gettin' back t'the nest. No tellin' when those BLU mongrels'll start showin' up again, righ'?"

"Not so fast." Again, Bailey cringed, turning to look at Idelia as she observed him quietly. "I am not a foolish woman, Bailey. I do not believe ze BLU Spy has been killed, but I do not believe he made it back to base eizer. Zere was a trail of blood... it led toward your nest. I do not know vat is going on here, but I will give you zis one warning: zey have killed many of our people. If you are hiding him... please do try to be careful."

It was all Bailey could do to keep his cool. Never had he been so completely and utterly pinned by one of his teammates. But Idelia was watching him with a careful, level expression. She wasn't accusing him, after all. As a woman of science, she was simply following her theory through to its logical end. "If that dirty snake came anywhere near my nest, you'd know about it, Iddy," he pointed out, nearly snarling. "I hate Spies. Don't even trust Tristan. Dirty, backstabbin', murderin' Frenchies th'lot." He sniffed indignantly as Idelia smiled and nodded, clearly satisfied with his answer. "I'm gonna head on back t'th' nest. Take care, now. 'ave fun with Arty, whenever y'get 'ome."

He didn't wait around for her to say anything else, using his long legs to carry him quickly from the main base's interior. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt as though someone had shoved a hot poker through his stomach. That had been far too close for comfort. Idelia was one person he knew would likely be suspicious, but as crazy as she was, she was also trusting of her team. It was very likely she wouldn't do anything beyond questioning him, and clearly she had liked his explanation.

His true concern, he realized as he walked across the dusty expanse between the barn and the loft, was Tristan. He had no way of preventing Tristan from finding anything out, and he could only hope the Spy hadn't noticed the same things Idelia had. Immediately, he picked up his pace, eyes narrowed as he pulled down the brim of his cap. Not a good day. No... not a good day at all.

* * *

Laurent was rather comfortable. He was leaning back with pillows propped behind him and his stomach wasn't aching nearly as bad as it could have been. Bailey still insisted on keeping asprin stocked for the purpose, but he was needing it less and less, and starting to appreciate the company of the Sniper more and more. He supposed he should probably feel as though he was betraying his team, but he didn't. A number of them were rather insane, and Winifred - the BLU team Soldier - was absolutely psychotic.

Bailey was something of a calm force in the storm that this whole mess had become. He smiled a little. Funny... Snipers and Spies were mortal enemies, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate the tall, lanky Australian who seemed to have far too much heart for his rather heartless profession.

He was just about to settle leaning back again when all at once, Sydney lifted his head from where he was laying across the BLU Spy's legs, baring his fangs as his hackles lifted, ears pressing down against his skull with a growl Laurent was sure he had never heard from the usually amiable and friendly dog before. His stomach clenched and he swallowed against a lump that had formed there, waiting with baited breath for the door to open.

But it never did. It stayed firmly closed, with nothing passing through it... but a note. A single piece of paper folded in half and slid beneath the door. Laurent looked around. It was likely for Bailey, but Sydney had reacted so strangely...

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at it. That was when he noticed the writing on the paper, face up so he could see it clearly. It was in French... To the Sky, it said. Jaw clenched, nerves on edge, Laurent forced himself to sit up completely, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. His stomach burned, protesting the movement at once. Bailey had been trying to keep him exercising enough to avoid losing any real muscle strength, but he was still very tender where the RED Spy had stabbed him.

Using the wall as his guide, he carefully made his way to the door and crouched, with great difficulty, to pick up the note in a shaking hand. By the time he returned to the bed, he was shaking so hard that he could barely see straight. Several deep breaths slowed the shaking, and finally, he unfolded the note to read what was written in neat handwriting within.

It was short, sweet, and to the point... and every word was in French.

I know you are here, the note read. Know that I could end this in minutes. The Sniper would never know. No one would ever find your body. Remember this.

It wouldn't have taken an engineer to figure out that the letter had been written by the RED Spy. The RED Spy knew... knew he was here. He couldn't tell Bailey... having the Sniper confront the Spy about the situation would only put him in danger, and it was a risk Laurent suddenly realized he was not at all willing to take. He would simply have to be on guard, carefully waiting for the time that the other Spy finally came for him. Sydney had stopped growling by this point, hopping back up on the bed to sit dutifully on Laurent's legs, but he was still watching the door carefully.

The dog gave a couple of happy barks a moment later, and immediately, the young Spy shoved the note into the pocket of his suit pants, shoulders tense as the door swung open and Bailey climbed in.

The Sniper looked exhausted, though if anything, the exhaustion seemed to be stemming more from nerves than lack of sleep. He did give that casual, lopsided smile in Laurent's direction when the Spy blinked at him, however, grabbing two mugs and filling them with coffee before grabbing something else Laurent had not expected... the Disguise Kit from his suit jacket. "Y'said you'd wanted a smoke the other day. I don't smoke but I got no problem with it." Settling in the chair beside the cot, he offered both the Disguise Kit and one of the mugs. "'ere."

Blinking a few times out of sheer surprised, the Spy accepted the offered items, taking a few sips of coffee before slipping a cigarette out of the case, making absolutely certain the Sniper could not see the true workings within. He felt himself relax at the first draw of nicotine and leaned back a little bit. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Might've," Bailey responded. "Our Medic cornered me while I was gettin' s'more asprin. She saw yer blood trail. Figured I knew where y'might've got to." When the Spy's eyes widened, Bailey waved him off. "I made sure she didn't suspect. I think she was jes' followin' 'er gut. Woman's bloody brilliant, even if she is a bit touched in the ol' noggin. Feel better?"

The question of his well-being no longer caught Laurent off-guard and he nodded, taking another draw from the cigarette held gracefully between the fore and middle fingers of his left hand. "I find nicotine to have a calming effect. To be honest, I am rather surprised you do not smoke. It would help with nerves, I would imagine... better zan drinking coffee."

Bailey nodded toward his coffee pot. "S'decaff, mate. Keeps me from gettin' jittery, but I still get th'taste. Cigarettes? Never really saw a need. Gotta keep my wits about me, an' can't do that if I've got a smoker's cough, can I?"

A wry smile crossed Laurent's lips. "I do not have smoker's cough."

"Yer also barely old enough t'be smokin' at all." Despite the gentle jibe, Bailey was smiling, eyes bright. It was painful to think that they could become friends like this. As soon as Laurent's injuries were healed, it would be right back to the same old same old again... trying to kill one another for the sake of some stupid, bloody war. "I'm jes' messin' with ya. Whatever keeps ya sane, righ'? There's worse vices. Take Callum, fer instance. I'm amazed the ol' drunk can hit anythin' with those explosives, much as 'e keeps 'imself drownin' in that swill he calls whiskey."

Laurent gave a laugh at that, shaking his head as a smile split the features of his attractive young face. "Our Demoman is something of a drunk as well. Not surprising... I think I would spend most of my time drunk if I was in his profession. Too much to worry about. Though..." He trailed off, looking suddenly very thoughtful. "Perhaps zey are not as drunk as they let on, non? After all, zey must be quite careful or BOOM. Zey blow ze lot of us off ze map."

Bailey couldn't help but laugh at the comment, shaking his head a bit as a grin split his features. Laurent just watched him closely. It wasn't hard to get him to smile, and he didn't mind the view, but he seemed so hesitant. How odd. For a man who lived his life on the wire, never once hesitating to take the shot the moment the time was right, he was much more quiet than he had expected about his own personal life.

Either way, he wasn't really going to question it. Bailey was a smart enough man and pleasant enough company, but that was more than enough for him to deal with. His strategy would be the same. He simply had to get well and get out. Then... then it would be business as usual. In war, there were no such things as friends, and this was no different whatsoever. So he leaned back against the pillows, quietly drawing on his cigarette, and watching as Bailey absently stared at the ceiling.  
Finally, though, the Sniper glanced back at him with a thoughtful look on his face. "So. You're a decent enough bloke despite all the sneakin' and backstabbin'. You got yerself a lady back wherever you come from?"  
If it were possible to choke on cigarette smoke, Laurent just might've. Pulling the cigarette rapidly away from his lips, he coughed a few times, squinting as he caught his breath to look at the other man in surprise. "I... well... no. No, I do not."  
That made Bailey actually look a little startled, and he gave the Spy a good long look as he contemplated his answer. "Really, spooky? No ladies knockin' yer door down at all? 'cordin' t'Tristan, all you Spy types are real good with women." A grin spread across his face, though it was more teasing than anything. "Here I was thinkin' of askin' you fer advice."  
"Hmph. I am certainly not ze person you want to ask for advice, mon ami," the Spy scoffed as he finally settled back to his place against the pillows. "I... well. I am not... how do you say zis...? I am not "into" women."  
For a moment, Bailey said nothing, processing the information quietly. All at once, though, it seemed to hit him, and his dark eyes widened considerably. "Oh... oh! Yer... oh. Oh, m'sorry, I shouldn't'a pried. I just though'... well, considerin' Tristan... I ain't never actually met someone who wasn't... y'know. No Spies, anyway. Our old Spy, Francois, was all about th' ladies."  
Smiling faintly, Laurent chuckled. "No offense taken, believe me. I am not surprised. I suppose it is ze accent. People see ze French as quite esoteric characters. We are often written as such in classic literature."  
"Folks from my 'ome country are writtin' as bein' murderers an' convicts, so I guess this makes us even." Both of them shared a laugh at that as Bailey moved to grab his coffee cup and fill it, stretching. "Really didn't think much about it when I asked. I mean... weren't somethin' I'd ever really considered in detail. Jes' knew you were French, and that I'd known Spies - like Francois and Tristan - who had a thing fer girls. Meetin' one who prefers... ah... gentlemen... now that's a bit of a swing fer me."  
Laurent couldn't resist a wide grin, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have asked me, mon ami, now I shall ask you. Certainly a rugged man such as yourself must have many conquests."  
But Bailey only shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Nah. I'm not real good with girls. Too... awkward, I guess. I spend most of my life alone. You're really th'closest t'human contact I've had since I got here. Not countin' my little brother, anyway. He's moved up in th'world since we got 'ere."  
"It must be nice to have family. I have no brothers or sisters, and I have not seen my parents in years. Zey have no interest in finding me, and I've no interest whatsoever in locating them."  
Bailey blinked slightly, glancing toward the other man with a puzzled expression. "Y'don't keep in touch with yer folks? Damn. I don't think I could do that... keep apart from 'em, I mean. I've always been close with my mum and dad. Dad don't necessarily approve of my work, but... well, y'know how it is."  
The young Spy shrugged slightly, lifting his hand to take another long draw from his cigarette. "It does not bother me. Some people are made to be able to get along well with others. I am not one of zese people."  
The two smiled at each other, though the expressions were visibly strained. They were two people who could not be anymore different, but somehow, they were so very much alike. Laurent shifted, keeping his pale eyes on Bailey as if trying to read the Australian's otherwise blank expression. He had always considered himself a mysterious sort, but now... this had utterly changed his view on the world and everything around it.  
BLU and RED... just colors. Bailey was as human as he was. They both had killed, had blood on their hands that would never wash away, and yet...  
His expression must have changed, because Bailey gave him a long, careful look, folding his hands in his lap. "Somethin' on yer mind?"  
"Just... musing again on how alike we are." Bailey frowned, but Laurent pressed on. "I know what you are thinking. We are nothing alike. But... I believe I am referring to this more in how we behave than our methods of murder. You may be close to your family, and I distant from mine, but we both still avoid most physical contact, preferring to avoid others for fear of one of many things. Ze most prominent of which, I am sure, is to avoid losing someone to a pointless war we all know we must fight, no matter how much we despise it."  
That caused Bailey to sit back, startled. They had been living in the same close quarters for nearly four days now, and it had really taken everything in ihs power to avoid thinking of Laurent as an equal. The Spy was nothing like him, he reminded himself. Spies were sneaky and even cowardly, doing their work from the shadows, only getting close enough to aquaint you with their dagger before slipping into the dark again.  
Sniping was... well, he had been trying to convince himself that his initial argument was correct. It was a very precise art, performed from a distance. He was never personal with his enemies. Where Laurent would often see the dying light of a man's eyes, Bailey rarely saw more than a glimpse of their face in his crosshairs before their head exploded into a fine red mist.  
He frowned and looked away briefly, his fists clenching slightly. "Maybe. Maybe you're right. Maybe you and me are a lot more different than I'd like to admit, but so what? I'm still RED. You're still BLU. At th'end of th'day, it's still my job to blow your head off your shoulders."  
"But you haven't... have you?"  
The two stared at each other for a long moment, Laurent all but daring Bailey to contradict him this time. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the Frenchman was again correct. He had blustered and gone on about the first shot not being a mercy kill, but now... here he was. Laurent was more than capable of independent movement now, even with his injuries, and it wouldn't be too hard to just finish the job. Problem was actually doing it. He still couldn't bring himself to.  
On the other hand, Laurent had also refrained from killing him. Perhaps it was a two-way street. He hadn't attempted to kill the Spy because the Spy was making no attempt to come after him. It was like some morbid, bizarre death dance that played with both their minds, waiting for one to slip...  
By the time he looked back over at the Spy, the young man had put out his cigarette and was settling onto the bed, eyes half-hooded. Bailey gave a sigh and frowned. "No. I 'aven't. But you 'aven't put a knife in my back either, so I s'pose that makes us pretty even." He paused. Laurent's eyes had closed completely and his chest was falling into a steady rhythm. Startled, Bailey smiled a bit. "...guess you were more tired than y'thought."  
He sighed and shook his head a bit, reaching down to pick up a blanket and draw it up to Laurent's shoulders, watching the peaceful expression on the BLU operative's face for a long moment. "...sleep well, Spooky."


	3. Chapter 3

Morning at the BLU base began with Reveille playing loudly over the speakers, and a very irritated crew slowly started to assemble. Winifred Dolores Smith, who always gave her full name on introduction, was going through her usual morning routine. Most of the crew tolerated the Soldier, but today she seemed considerably more angry than usual, pacing around with her clear blue eyes narrowed, dark blond hair braided rigidly down her back.

It was Milo, the team's young Engineer, who first noticed her irritation, giving her a long look as she paced back and forth in the small office she had come to calling their "war room." He had been around her the longest, and unlike many of the others, he found a certain fondness for the sharp-tongued woman. Sure, she was a little insane, but around here, he found it was probably a good thing to be crazy. Without a little crazy, it was far too easy to just... well, go genuinely insane. He'd seen enough bodies to know that it was not a wise idea to let one's self get acclimated to that kind of thing.

"So, uh... Winnie?" The woman turned her head toward him, expression severe on what he could see of her face past the ridiculously oversized helmet she wore. "You're looking a little... uh..." Briefly, he chewed his lip, looking in vain for a word that wouldn't somehow insult the fiery woman. "...you're looking just a little bit tense."  
Winifred frowned as her back straightened slightly, hands folding at the swoop of her lower back, turning again to face a nearby screen showing all the possible scenarios they could be encountering. Some of them were downright ridiculous. "That damn new Spy we got. He's been missing for almost a week. Where the hell could he have gotten to?"

Ah. So that was it. Milo supposed he really shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. Winifred was not one who entertained slackers or layabouts, and someone who was not doing his job for a whole four days definitely fell under at least one of the aforementioned categories.

Poor Laurent had only been a very recent addition, and it actually made Milo a little sad to consider that he could've gotten himself killed already. Their previous Spy, Claude, had lasted at least four months before he had been rather unpleasantly vivisected by the RED Team's overly enthusiastic Medic.

"I'm sure he's fine," he encouraged. "I mean, he's new, right? Probably just got lost somewhere."

Winifred snorted disdainfully. "Lost? Hmph! When I first got here, I never got lost once. I found my way around first thing, and do you know why? Because I have-"

"The senses of a bloodhound." Milo nearly jumped at the sharp look the Soldier gave him when he interrupted, but he pressed on all the same. "Not everyone has your impeccable sense of direction, though, Winnie. I mean... you're good at what you do. Really good. This guy's just... fresh off the iron, if you know what I mean. Give him some time. I'm sure he'll show up eventually."

Though she did not appear to be entirely convinced, Winifred did deflate a bit, and Milo swore her bottom lip was actually sticking out a bit in something of a pout. "Well, we have to consider, he's gotta be somewhere. If he's not dead, then I suspect he's been captured. Which, if that's the case? We will have to infiltrate RED's base and locate him so that he does not give up any sensitive information."

Milo did his best not to chuckle. The only sensitive information Laurent may have had was where the mess hall was. Not that the Frenchman had eaten with them often. He usually got what he wanted and went back to his room. Something of a loner, he guessed. Winifred wasn't about to be convinced otherwise, however, so he simply peacefully went along with her statement. "We'll do that once we know for sure he's captured or something. Do we have any new instructions?"

"Nothing just yet," Winifred immediately picked up, more than happy to have the subject change to her second favorite thing in the world: tactics. "I wager we're just going to observe for a while and see what RED's up to. Once we know for sure, then we'll be able to actually go in and take their points and move the battle up to the intel level. Once we're there, we wipe out their defense, get the intelligence, and report back to command. We'll have this war won in no time!"

The smile that Milo wore once she was done talking was genuine. He really liked Winifred, for as much as she blustered. The rest of the team was pretty terrified of her, but... well, that was to be expected. She took command and she ran with it. He was just about to open his mouth to speak again when all at once, the voice of the Announcer played through the base.  
"Attention BLU Team. Your new Medic has arrived."

Milo tipped his head to one side, then made a thoughtful noise. "Oh, that's right. Baldwin got killed up at the front. I hear RED's Sniper got him. They had to move ours up. Wonder what the new guy's like..."

"Hopefully less crazy than the last one," Winifred scoffed. "I'd much rather have someone who actually does medicine as opposed to someone more interested in seeing what my insides look like on the /outside/." She wrinkled her nose a bit, expression tight. "Shall we?"

She said nothing else, just headed for the door with the perky young Engineer in tow. The others were already gathering around a slim young man with a fine, aristocratic face. He was a bit more cut than Laurent, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes. The very picture of the "true German ideal." The others were regarding him curiously until he cleared his throat, nervous, and spoke. "Ah... hello. I apologize for my delay. My name is Hans. I shall be your new Medic."

Just as Winifred was about to speak up, their young Scout - Matt - perked up with a bright grin, offering his hand. "Good! You're a lot less crazy than th'last guy we had. Welcome to the party, Hans."  
Much to everyone's surprise, Hans did not take his hand, his chin lifting slightly with a nervous smile. "Ah... zank you. And you are...?"

Matt appeared a little bit offended at the lack of courtesy shown to him by the new Medic, but just the same, he responded exactly as was expected. "Uh. Matt. My name's Matt. You okay, man...?"

"I am fine," Hans replied quietly. "I apologize; I do not like to touch ozer people. Too much risk of contamination. It is very nice to meet you all. Could someone be kind enough to show me to the medical wing?"

That caused Winifred to perk up, smiling with almost unnerving politeness. "Just follow me, doctor. We've got a pretty state-of-the-art facility here. I think you'll like it a hell of a lot more than you would've gotten if you'd joined up with RED."

The Medic tipped his chin up thoughtfully, his expression plainly intrigued. "I find it a challenge to work in less than normal areas. I do appreciate your concern, however, ma'am. Please." He motioned with one gloved hand. "After you."

The others actually trailed along as Winifred led Hans toward the medical wing of the BLU base. "We've been having some trouble lately, just to let you know. Our Spy went missing."

"How odd," Hans commented, tipping his head ever slightly to one side to observe the woman walking in front of him. "How long has he been missing? Does he often do zis?"

Winifred just snorted, folding her arms over her chest as she stalked forward. "Like hell if I know. This guy's pretty new. RED's Medic killed our old Spy about a month and a half ago, and this creepy bastard's only been here for a couple of weeks at most. You have any experience with Spies?"

Slowly, the young Medic shook his head, reaching up to adjust the small, thin-rimmed glasses on his long, straight nose. "I have not, I am ashamed to admit. Zis is my first time on ze field in an actual combat situation. I was expecting something less..."

"Tidy?" Winifred grinned, glancing over her shoulder at him. "I run a tight ship here, Doc. Don't forget that." Turning to look forward again, she ignored the odd look he gave to the back of her head, boots thumping heavily on the sleek concrete flooring. "So yeah. I expect you to be able to handle things a little better than our previous Medic. He was a freaking nutter. You... you seem to have a good head on your shoulders..."

As she continued to speak, Hans slowly started to tune her out, pursing his lips as he processed the information he had been given thus far. Their old Medic must've moved up on the front, and so, here he was. What he was told about the Spy, however, intrigued him. While he had done no work with Spies previously, he did know how they could be simply from information given to him by the recruiters that had brought him here. One disappearing for days at a time didn't seem like such an abnormality to him, but then, he supposed it might be... to someone who wasn't particularly familiar with their methods.

This woman, strange as she was, seemed to have a pretty decent grip on the behaviors of the elusive class, however. And whatever her Spy had done, it certainly hadn't won him any love among the BLU operatives in this base. He mused to himself that he simply must meet this man once he finally arrived here. Whatever his reason for being missing for so long, it must have been a good one.

"What can you tell me about RED team?"

Though Winifred was apparently shocked at the fact that someone had dared to interrupt her, she did give the Medic a curious look before grinning. "Bunch of backwater, namby-pamby sissies is what they are. No good cowards. They just lost their Scout... got moved up just like our Medic did. I think their Spy got replaced recently, too."

Hans frowned, lifting his chin a bit. "Seems to be an unfortunately common constant around here, I zink."

The Soldier just shrugged. "Maybe. At any rate, they're a pretty tough bunch. You'll need to watch yourself when we're actually up against them. Their Sniper's a damn good shot, and the first time you get hit with that damn "Jarate" shit, you know pretty quick that you don't want to go through that experience ever in this life or the next."

Blinking, Hans turned a corner when Winifred did. "Jarate? I am afraid I am not familiar vis ze term..."

"You will be soon enough. I don't really feel like explaining. I think our boy knows it too, but he's always too busy up in that damn nest to come down and give us any kind of details. Damn camper. Sitting in a tower, staring through a scope all day? It's no way to win a war." She sniffed indignantly, pushing up her helmet in order to view the keypad on a door they were approaching. "Here we go. This is the medical room."

There was a brief pause as she keyed in the number onto the pad, and Hans watched carefully so that he would remember the combination to get in here in future events. Part of him wondered what RED team had, if not sophisticated machinery like this? He had just seen some of their buildings in the distance on his way in... all rustic and rather quaint, when he really thought about it.

"Do you need me for anyzing else, Fraulein Smith?" Not that he hadn't appreciated the guidance down here, but he did not like the tone the woman was taking. Though he was aware they were in the middle of a very real conflict here, he didn't like the fact that everything seemed so black and white to her. There were levels in every conflict. In every war, things were not so clear as "good" and "evil." Too many things happened in the middle to keep everything as nice and tidy as the Good Old Boys like Winifred wanted to admit. "I vould like to take stock and see vat I have to work vis."

Winifred shrugged, stepping aside to get out of his way. "Suit yourself. There's a bell that sounds when it's mealtime and we have a loudspeaker to let everyone know when we're gonna be going at it with those RED bastards. Hope you settle in all right, Doc."

She snapped off a salute, turned sharply on her heel, and marched off in the other direction, leaving Hans to stand alone in the door to the medical room. What, he wondered, could really be the issue that made all of this so... awkward...

* * *

Early morning was not one of Bailey's favorite times, despite the fact that he had company now. He was sitting up in the nest, staring out toward the East and the sun that was coming up in the distance, bathing the world in a warm, heavy red glow. It was rather pleasant... more so than he had expected, really. But either way, he couldn't' shake the feeling that something was more wrong than normal. Laurent, normally rather interested in everything going on in the world around him and the people he was dealing with, was being considerably quiet, just gazing toward the ceiling or absently rubbing Sydney's ears when he wasn't humming something to himself in a tune Bailey did not recognize.

It was unsettling. He had grown very fond of the company of the Spy, BLU or not, and thinking that something had bothered him to the point of completely distracting him from the company he'd been living with for days now...

He soured, eyes narrowing as he looked down toward the dirt below him. BLU wasn't doing anything, and Tristan reported no unusual activity from their base. So why was it that Laurent suddenly seemed so against just speaking up?

Frowning, the Sniper stood up and stretched some kinks out of his back, his whole frame aching from the crouched position he held all day, his fingers curling around his rifle. What was he supposed to do? To say? He shook his head as he headed toward the ladder, but just as he was getting ready to head down, he spotted Cat getting ready to head up. She blinked up at him, then smiled a little bit. "Well hey there, eagle eyes! You look like somethin's really botherin' ya. Want me to keep you some company?"

"Actually-..." He trailed off, then took a step back. "Yeah... yeah, c'mon up, Cat. I don' mind th'company one bit. How're you an' yer spook?"

The girl grinned as she cleared the remainder of the distance between her and the platform, balancing precariously on one foot before plunking down onto a box. "We're doin' okay. You know, this is kinda weird. I'm not used to you being so welcoming to me coming up and bugging you. Usually you're, y'know. Threatening to throw me out the window, down the ladder... into the midden... you know. Stuff like that."

Bailey chuckled a little bit as he found a seat by the window, reaching to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Well, a guy can change his mind, can't he?"

"I don't mind. I know you don't really mean any of it, anyway." She paused, gazing around the room thoughtfully. "You've not really been coming down to the base much. Is something on your mind? Maybe some/one/?"

Blinking a couple of times, Bailey gave the girl a puzzled look, his nose wrinkling up a little bit. "You must be jokin', Cat. Who here would I be pinin' over?"

The Scout shrugged, crossing her legs. "Maybe... I'unno. Maybe Callum?" When Bailey snorted, she grinned and put her hands up. "Okay, okay, so maybe not Callum. M'sorry. That was my bad. I was just trying to think of who in the world might be the sort to get your head all in a twist so badly. Seriously, Bailey, we've all been kind of worried about you. You've always been distant, but here lately, it's been like you're not even on our team."

"Well..." Bailey paused. How was he supposed to word this so the intuitive little New Yorker didn't get wind of what was really going on? Besides that, what was his relationship with Tristan? They were friends, of course. He wasn't going to deny that. He'd grown fonder of the Spy than he had expected, though, so could it really even be considered just friends anymore... "Just thinkin' about someone I knew back home."

The girl pursed her lips, looking rather thoughtful. "Hm. Someone back home, huh? Is it a girl?"

Immediately, Bailey blurted, "No!" Then, realizing how suspicious it probably sounded to cut down her suspicions so quickly, he reworded. "I mean... well, yes, a girl. But not a girl in the way you're thinking. An old childhood friend'a mine."

"They say childhood friends are the total best people to hook up with," commented the petite Scout. "I mean... it's someone you know well, someone you get along with. But if it's not, then it's not. I can't wait until you find someone you really want to make it work with, though, Bailey?"

Dryly, the Sniper twisted his lips, adjusting his slouch hat atop his head. "Is that so? Why's that, small fry?"

After an indignant snort, Cat folded her arms rather primly over her chest. "Well, it's always funny to see someone just starting to fall in love. Someone'll ask you if you've got anyone, and all of a sudden, a face'll pop into your head and you won't be able to get 'em out and it'll hit you like a ton of bricks. And when it happens to you? When it happens to you, I'm gonna die laughin'. No joke. You can use Perry's shovel to bury me behind the old shed."

Bailey didn't let his expression change, but he did consider - very closely - what she had just said to him. It was very possible she had a point, but...

His thoughts were cut off when all at once, Sydney started baying from the camper van below. The sound was so mournful, so distant, that both of them were on their feet immediately. What could be going on down there to make that poor dog carry on like that?

"Cat, I've gotta check on Sydney-"

"I'm coming with you." The girl sounded immediately concerned, her small hands wringing together. "Don't look at me like that; I like Sydney! He's a sweet dog!"

Bailey didn't have time to stop her. With the true speed of a Scout, the girl was down the steps and on her way to the camper van. Bailey did his best to keep up, but by the time he did, Cat was standing in the doorway staring with wide, stunned eyes at the pale-haired man who had somehow fallen from the bed. Laurent was clutching his stomach, staring up at the Scout in surprise, mouth working with no words. At first, she didn't recognize him. Then, the build and those startlingly pale blue eyes seemed to click in her head.

"Oh my god." She breathed in, taking a step back. "Oh my god! Bailey, what th-MMPH!"

It was somewhat fortuitous that he'd managed to get his hand over her mouth before anymore words found their way out, but Bailey had already realized just how much hot water he was in. Cat knew. Cat knew that he was keeping Laurent here.

This was, easily, the biggest hurdle he had yet to face. Sydney was worrying about the injured Spy as Bailey struggled to get Cat and himself into the room, getting the door closed and locked behind him. "Cat, please, settle down! I'll explain ev'rythin'; I jes' need you t'stop strugglin' like a snake on a pike!" When she did not cease her thrashing, he sighed, jaw clenched. "Jes' gimme a chance t'explain! I'll let y'go when y'promise t'give me at least that!"

Though it was painfully gradual, the girl did finally stop moving, breathing heavily. Bailey could feel the tension in her small, thin frame, but he felt it safe to let her go. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she spun to face him, jaw clenched. "Well?" she questioned, voice dripping with ire. "I'm waiting."

That made Bailey freeze. Oh god, she was genuinely giving him a chance. He cursed slightly, then, as he started to talk, he walked over to carefully move the Spy back onto the cot. He told her everything, from Laurent's first arrival in the tower to taking him down to the van, to nursing him back to health to figuring out what to do with him. She was listening intently, her face still twisted with anger, small fingers clenched tightly on her arms. The more he spoke, however, and the more he watched as he gently checked the bandages and made sure his quick suture work hadn't broken free, the more she seemed to relax.

"That's pretty much all I can tell you, Cat. I'm sorry." He sighed deeply, giving her a long look. "So. Y'gonna tell Perry?"

For a moment, Cat didn't move. She closed her eyes, frustrated, worried. She gave her head a faint shake at last, however, and finally sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face. "I really don't know what to do, Bailey. He's... you're hiding the BLU Spy in your camper van! If you killed him, no one'd ever know and BLU wouldn't get a new Spy! We'd outnumber them!"

Bailey's eyes narrowed. "I won't kill a defenseless enemy, Catherine. I want to at least give 'im a running start."

Cat frowned, watching the Sniper and how the Sniper gently handled the smaller, younger man. She leaned back a little, then, just shaking her head. "Okay. Fine. I won't tell anyone. But I really hope you know what you're doing, Bailey. You're gonna hafta pull the trigger while aiming at him someday. Do you think you'll be able to do it?"

She didn't give him time to respond, just getting to her feet to climb out of the camper van and head back toward the base. Bailey was shaking, but not more than Laurent. The Spy looked shaken, and Sydney still looked as though something horrible had been happening. That was when the RED Sniper turned to look at the BLU Spy, and the two men regarded each other for a very long moment.

Laurent was nervous. What was he supposed to say? There was a very serious situation right here, lingering over his head. He knew what had happened. Tristan, the RED Spy, had materialized out of nowhere, flinging him violently from the bed before a terrified Sydney. Another reminder, he had jeered in a low, sickeningly gentle tone, that he still knew. It was a psychological attack and he knew it. Tristan was trying to scare him.

Well, he would not be frightened. "It was nothing, mon loup," he assured, slipping what he hoped was a reassuring nickname in almost without thinking. He wanted something, anything, to take his mind off the wicked grin and cold, dark eyes lingering in the back of his mind. He wasn't the sort to normally be frightened, but something about the behavior of the RED Spy struck just that chord in him and sent shivers down his spine. "I just fell out of ze bed. It most likely simply startled Sydney."

While Bailey did not look convinced, he did sit back a little bit, frowning. "You should be more careful. That coulda been a lot worse'n it was. Cat carries a shotgun."

"I assumed she most likely did, given she is a Scout," Laurent replied. He tensed, turning his head away as Bailey continued to stare hard at him. It was bad enough trying to lie to him. Well... no, he corrected himself, he wasn't lying. He simply wasn't giving him the whole truth. He had fallen out of the bed, in a way, even if it had not been his intention to do so. "Do you think she will...?"

Immediately, Bailey stood up, stalking to the door to look outside. "Cat won't tell anyone. I know that girl well enough t'know she's of 'er word. 'sides, she knows what'd happen if she let slip in front'a Tristan. Son of a bitch is one'a th'dirtiest weasels I've ever met." He paused, then looked back to Laurent with an expression that was almost chagrined. "No offense, spooky."

Laurent shrugged slightly. "None taken." He paused, something sinking in. Bailey had not called him by that nickname before, had he? "...spooky?"

He was surprised to see Bailey's cheeks go slightly pink as he kept his attention away from the Spy, rubbing the back of his hand against the leg of his jeans. "Eh. Though it was appropriate."

Both of them fell silent, not knowing what to say. It felt so strange, knowing that in the five days they had spent with one another, they not only knew more about one another than they did most of their own teammates, but they had reached a point where something could get awkward without it being a bad thing. Laurent wasn't sure what had changed, and part of him wished it hadn't.

Sighing, he leaned back and looked away, one hand lightly brushing the bandages over his stomach. It wouldn't be long now, would it? Going back to life as it was before meeting Bailey was going to be tricky, not because his job was particularly difficult, but because he was going to miss the company. Which, he realized mournfully, was a bad thing.

He could not let an unexpected friendship get in the way of professionalism. In a couple of days, he would be expected to step back on the field and, if necessary, put a gun to Bailey's head and pull the trigger. There was only one problem with his plan: he wasn't sure if he would be able to do it.

Laurent was tense. More tense than normal, now, considering what had happened. He had enough distaste for the RED Spy, but now Tristan seemed bound and determined to make his life a living hell, no matter the cost. He was fretting constantly now. He wasn't worried that Bailey would somehow just tell the others, or even that the small Scout would reveal his location, but this whole thing had gone on far longer - and far more stressfully - than he had anticipated.

When he had first arrived here, the whole situation had been considerably less upsetting. He would get fixed up and leave, preferablyly with the parting wave of a balisong knife jammed between the tall Sniper's shoulder blades. Now, the mere thought of just stabbing him like that, killing him as if he were no better than some common thug, actually caused his stomach to turn. The thought it invoked bothered him. It was no longer an issue of whether he just wanted to see the Sniper live to see tomorrow.

It was a matter of why he cared so much.

* * *

His long fingers twisted into the blankets. It wouldn't be long now and he could set out again, heading back to the BLU base to have the Medic - assuming they had finally received their new Medic, in any case - look at his patched up injuries and fish up a lie that he had disguised as the RED Spy in order to get his wounds patched before laying low until he could return.

The story, he hoped, would make sense. The Medic was new and, with enough persuasion, he could convince him or her not to say a word about the story, preferring to leave it unspoken so that no one would give him any trouble.

Leaving Bailey was going to be the hardest part, however. He had come to see the Sniper as a friend and confidante, more so than he should have. The BLU Sniper wasn't nearly as personable, being the sort more likely to turn on you or smash a jar of Jarate in your face than to really develop any worthwhile rapport with you.

Why he had decided, seemingly without any hesitation, that Bailey was worth his time. That was the real question. He felt like something had just gone wrong in his brain and he was unable to focus or think. He closed his eyes to consider his dilemma, but just as he did, Sydney gave a startled yelp and dove under the bed.

His eyes snapped open and his head jerked up, only to find himself face to face with Tristan's wide, tight smile. "Hello again, Monsieur BLU Spy."

Immediately, Laurent was on the alert, and his hand went for a breast pocket that was not there. Cursing himself for leaving himself so vulnerable, he didn't even have the time to cry out as he was shoved roughly back down, Tristan pinning him with that same, unchanging smile. If this was what staring down the devil felt like, Laurent was sure he would have no problem doing it when he actually finally lost his life. He at least assumed that Tristan had most likely learned his lesson from the last encounter. He specifically avoided throwing Laurent about, as it seemed that had been what set Sydney to baying the first time. For now, the dog just hid beneath the cot, whimpering pathetically.

"You must be some sort of fool," Laurent hissed, narrowing his pale eyes. "Two times visiting me in the same amount of days. You are lucky Bailey hasn't come back."

Tristan's smile turned unnervingly confident as he leered down at his prone opponent. "I have made certain he have no time to focus on you. We have plenty of time to... get to know one another." Outside, the alarm sounded, and Laurent blinked in surprise at the familiar voice chiming out, "The Control Point is being contested!"

Before he could comment on the oddity of the voice he had heard so many times in their own base warning the RED team of an advancing attempt on one of the control points, Tristan sat up, retrieving a cigarette before settling in such a way that Laurent could not move from beneath him. "You tipped off BLU?"

"That now would be a good time to strike, yes," Tristan purred. "It helps me do my job better. Get zem where I can truly work and then strike. Clever, no?"

Laurent growled, tipping up his chin in a show of indignation. "For a coward, perhaps. A true Spy would use zeir abilities properly, attacking from within. Not luring ze other team to you so zat you can pick them off like some lazy-!"

He was cut off when Tristan's arm crossed his throat, choking him. As he gagged and struggled for air, the RED team Spy just gave a friendly chuckle. "Work smarter, mon ami, not harder. Why worry about getting inside your base when I could simply do zis?" He paused, expression bored. Laurent's face was going slightly blue, and Tristan just grinned nastily. "Blue is not your color, you know. Perhaps you should reconsider your profession." He removed his arm, and in the next instant, he vanished, though his voice lingered. "Next time we meet, BLU dog, you will not be as lucky."

But Laurent wasn't listening. He was craned to the side, coughing violently as he got his wind back, cheeks feeling hot. Damn that filthy trash! Who did he think he was? It was like dealing with a mischievous child. When he was finally back at base and dealing properly with the issues he had been tasked with, that Spy would be the first to go.

Of course, that was a matter of getting out of here. There was no guarantee Tristan wouldn't somehow find out when they were planning on getting him out, and judging by the RED Spy's annoying habit of showing up whenever Bailey wasn't there...

His eyes narrowed. No. He would have to leave as soon as possible. Giving a slight nod, he glanced up, listening to the sound of the gunfire roar outside. When Bailey came back down, he would tell him. He had to get out of here, for both their sakes.

* * *

It was, Bailey realized, rather lonely to sit up in the nest without Cat to bother him. The Scout had been avoiding him like the plague since she had seen the Spy in his camper van. Not, he realized sourly, that he could actually blame her. She was understandably frustrated and probably feeling more than a little betrayed. Thinking back on it, he realized he would have reacted very much the same in an opposite situation. After all, there was a war on, and here he was nursing a man who would surely sooner put a knife in their backs than talk any sort of peaceable solutions to problems.

Hunching his shoulders inward, he nudged a nearby box slightly to one side, mostly to make sure he didn't inadvertently knock over any of the jars precariously placed there. Those, he noted as he glanced down at Callum prowling the perimeter below, were only in case of dire measures. In the distance, he could make out a burst of flame as Birkita, their resident Pyro, did a routine check of all corners to make sure there were no Spies present.

If he'd really felt mirthful about the thought, he would've let a smile creep onto his face. She would find no Spy there, only because the Spy was currently recovering down in his van.

That didn't make things any easier, however. He didn't like the feel of this fight as it was. It was almost as though someone had planned it to occur just at the right moment, throwing off defenses and really messing things up. He wrinkled his nose, then blinked. A flash of a blue tunic and helmet out on the battlefield alerted him to the location of the BLU Team's soldier, and he leaned down, eye pressed to the scope. She was moving around, trying to whack Birkita with her shovel, but having little luck. The Irish Pyro was dancing around the blows, occasionally letting out a burst of flame at the mad woman.

He took aim. He would have to be extremely careful to avoid injuring the RED Pyro, but he had little choice. He would just have to forsake a head shot for the sake of getting her in the shoulder or the arm, at least disabling her. They were, as far as he knew, without a medic for the present time, so it wasn't like she would be back up and about with any sort of definite swiftness.

One breath in. Hold it. Just when Birkita danced back, he saw his break, taking the shot as he let out a slow breath. The bullet hit Winifred square in her right shoulder, sending her staggering back several steps to recover her ground. The shovel fell, but before Birkita could get in to deal the final blow, an explosion of gunfire peppered the ground at her feet and she was forced to fall back, revealing Mariya, the BLU Heavy, leading...

Shit. They did have a Medic now. The young man must've arrived sometime in the night. The man was tending to the angry soldier now as the woman pointed up in his direction. Immediately he drew back from his rifle and crouched below the level of the ledge, making himself next to invisible to anyone looking up. He couldn't afford to get shot like this, but he had a bad feeling.

The way things were going, it looked to him like they were going to lose the next point out. This was the second one! They would have to fall back... not something he liked the idea of.

Still ducked down in his nest, he listened quietly to the world outside. He could hear Perry yelling, insisting that they needed to fall back. If they lost that point, his tower - at the very least - would still be within RED territory. It still meant that they were going to be painfully closer to the intel teams, and painfully closer to losing this whole damn conflict. He did not want to admit that this could happen.

A gong chimed somewhere, indicating that the point was now under BLU control. He cursed and pressed down lower, frustration burning in his chest. Despite what they'd done, how hard they'd tried, they'd lost yet another point! Not that he was going to let them get away with it easy.

Creeping up a bit, he scanned the ground below him. His own team had cleared the area and most of them were just manning the perimeter now, making sure no BLU team agents got too close to the next point. The familiar sound of mad cackling, however, drew his attention around, and immediately he spun, gun aimed and fired before the BLU Demoman knew what'd happened. It hadn't been a kill shot, but the sudden yelp of pain was more than enough of a hint that he'd at least found his target.

Minutes passed. Slowly, the battlefield below stilled, and he sighed, sitting up. Where had that damn spook been? He could've ended all of this in minuets, but no. He was probably too busy shining his own ass to bother even putting two licks in to help his team.

Shaking his head, he threw his hat to the floor, scowling viciously. Another loss. Another reminder that they weren't doing nearly as well as they had before losing Rob and Jenny. Then again, the fact that they'd lost the two to the intel team was proof enough that the RED team wasn't doing too well on that front either. He pursed his lips, then sighed. Perry would undoubtedly want to have a meeting regarding this whole stupid mess, and he would be expected to at least put in an appearance.

Not bothering too much with cleaning up, he headed down the ladder and toward the barn, his jaw clenched tightly. He could hear Artyom speaking lowly in broken English to Idelia as he passed, noting quietly that the Medic's hair was all askew about her face. Unlike a similar time not too many weeks before, she had no blood covering her, instead showing the familiar wear of taking care of their Heavy through a long, unpleasantly tedious battle.

Avery, their young Engineer, was lamenting the loss of a number of Sentries she'd built along the perimeter, though he did not stick around long enough to hear what exactly had happened to them. He just wanted to get this meeting out of the way so he could get back to the camper van and check on his guest. Surely Laurent would want to know what was going on.

Most everyone was quiet when they finally settled around the room, most of them without the helmets or masks that protected their heads during actual fighting. Perry, a tall, broad man with shoulders Bailey was fairly sure you would have to kill a couple of bodybuilders to get otherwise, was staring them all down through his square-jawed, small-eyed face, his hands folded behind his back. "That was pathetic out there, you bunch of ladies." When the women in the room cleared their throats unpleasantly, he actually blinked and backed up a bit. "Those of you who aren't actually ladies, that is. Those of you who are ladies, you fought like little girls! I'm embarrassed to call myself RED team!"

The others spoke their retorts, but Bailey was no longer paying attention. He let his gaze linger out the window toward the blue sky beyond, letting Perry drone on as much as he needed to be, not looking up until the Soldier banged the table hard enough to cause it to nearly tip, and Bailey heard his name. "Bailey's the only one who carried his weight in this! One hit to that damn Soldier, the other to their Demoman. But even then, we've got an issue. They've got a new Medic and they have another control point! We've gotta work extra hard! Double time!"

This time, Bailey didn't wait. He just stood up, ignoring Perry's shouts for him to sit down. "I don't' have time fer this. I did what I was s'posed to. I'll keep doin' jes' that. We'll take out th'Medic in the next go, righ'? So if I ain't needed... I'm goin' home."

He didn't wait to let anyone stop him, quietly heading back toward the camper van, mind swirling with thoughts. With them being pushed back, the chances of Laurent being found were increased exponentially. He pursed his lips and frowned. They would have to part ways soon enough. Very soon, if any of his theories were at all close to being correct.

When he opened the door, however, he blinked. Laurent was standing, quietly buttoning his suit jacket with his back to the door. He could just make out Sydney cowering under the cot, whimpering a little bit but generally appearing unharmed. "What are you doin' up?" he demanded. "And what happened t'my dog?"

"I didn't hurt him." Laurent looked over toward Bailey quietly, determination in his features and posture. "Someone was near here and he panicked. Ze fact that someone got zat close, however, and your Scout's discovery of me are simply proof that we need to rethink zis. I need to leave."

Bailey puffed up. He had no idea why this was aggravating him, after all. Laurent was not RED. He was not their ally, and in technicality, they shouldn't have been friends, either. His fists clenched and unclenched. "No, y'don't. Yer still not well enough t'be up and movin' about."

The Spy just snorted quietly, giving the Sniper a long look as he smoothed the wrinkles in the pinstriped jacket, adjusting his tie before pulling on his gloves and reaching for his balaclava. "I do not wish to drag zis out, Bailey. I have imposed too long upon your hospitality. I will do so no longer. I will not risk zis becoming something zat we will both regret when the time comes."

Snarling lowly, Bailey reached over to grab Laurent's arm a little rougher than he had intended, pulling the Spy in so he could look at him more closely. Dark brown met pale blue, and for a moment, neither one moved, as though an electric shock had gone through the both of them. "...what th'hell d'you mean "becomin' somethin' we'll both regret?" I don't regret what I've done."

"Perhaps not." Laurent's tone was sad and distant, and as he spoke, he purposefully looked away. "I do not regret not following my first instinct to kill you, as it seems you do not regret your decision in zat same issue. However, zis is not about killing. Zis is about our friendship. It is bad enough zat we have allowed ourselves to let our guards down zis much. Zis could become bad very quickly."

He carefully extracted his arm from Bailey's grip, smiling as he pulled on his balaclava. He seemed to take some comfort in its familiarity and the anonymity it gave him, standing straight as the Sniper frowned deeply. "Look, spooky, I..."

His words halted in his throat. As he had begun to speak, Laurent leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips over the Sniper's in a move that sent a shock down his spine, startling him into silence. Wide dark eyes watched the slim, lithe form as the Spy stepped back. He smiled, just barely. "Adieu, mon loup. Until we meet again."

With those words, he cloaked and vanished, leaving Bailey to stand stunned in the van with a very upset cattle dog and a dawning realization of what had happened. The Spy was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't so much the trek back to the BLU base that was really bothering Laurent, despite the thick, nagging ache in his midsection. It was the swirl of thoughts wracking his brain. He needed to be away... as far away as he could get from the tall, rugged RED Sniper with his lazy glances and tough, strong hands. Everything about him was disorienting no, intoxicating. He may not have known his own appeal, but the young Spy was acutely aware of it, and he had to fight to keep his voice, his face, his body out of his mind.

This was a fascination he could not afford to feed. Bailey had been kind to him, and they had even come far enough to be considered friends. To think they could be anything more than that was simple foolishness on his part. As much as he may have desired something deeper, be it physical or emotional, they were on separate sides of this war, in professions that were traditionally rivals. To hope that they could somehow develop a relationship under such circumstances was downright laughable.

The Spy's current path was one that took him wide around the side of the building, and he had hoped that taking this route would allow him to avoid any pressing questions, not the least of which concerned his whereabouts for the past week. He kept his steps light and quick, but he couldn't be prepared for everything... not in his present condition or state of mind. Which was probably why he rounded a corner and nearly ran headlong into Frank, BLU's Sniper. The older man looked just as bewildered as the younger, though his expression hardened rather quickly. Frank, he had been warned upon his initial arrival, was not a fan of Spies in general. Truly the traditional Sniper in every sense of the word. He gave Laurent a long look, noting the way he stood and the gloved hand over his abdomen, before looking back to his masked face.

"Not lookin' so good there," Frank was saying, though there was no emotion or hint of even mild concern in his tone. Laurent was wondering how in the world karma had decided on giving them this boarish bushman while RED got someone like Bailey. "Like you've been in one hell of a fight."

Laurent drew back slightly, his pale eyes narrowing. "Whezher or not I was in a fight is not your concern." Part of him was angry. Who cared whether or not Frank was right? It was not his place to assume about Laurent's activities. He was a Spy. Being secretive was part of his nature. His fury was irrational, of course, but he couldn't push it back. "I do not believe it is any of your business."

The Sniper looked neither intimidated nor bothered, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses as he looked the Spy over again. "Too right," he responded, very nearly too calm. "But y'keep goin' on like y'ain't on th' level, I'll make it my business. Any case, new Medic's in. He's wantin' t'give everyone a look-over an' yer th'only one he ain't seen." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of where Laurent assumed the Medic must have set up shop. "Best go deal with it now."

"Later." Visiting a Medic was not high on Laurent's to-do list anyway. He still didn't have a good story to explain where he'd been, and with no dead REDs left in his wake, the story he knew he would have to come up with would have to be spectacular. "I have information to go zhrough and I do not wish to be disturbed while doing it."

Frank lifted his chin, just slightly. "From th'way yer movin', I'd say goin' sooner rather'n later'd be th'safer bet."

Immediately, Laurent's eyes narrowed, giving the Sniper a sharp look normally reserved for opponents on the battlefield. "Do you plan on making me, bushman?"

Poor choice of words. On a good day, Laurent could have easily taken the larger man in a fight. With his injuries, however, his reaction time was clearly slowed, and after a rough battle with no sign of the gangly young Spy, the Sniper was probably itching for a reason to get rough.

The tall man's hand shot out. Laurent's first instinct was to duck away and dance to the side, out of range, but the sudden movement pulled sharply against the crude stitches across his abdomen, sending shocks of pain through his slim frame. The hesitation was an opening Frank was more than willing to take advantage of, and he had hold of the Spy's collar in a flash, pulling him roughly along toward the medical wing.

Upon entering the room, Laurent's first impression was that this new Medic must have been something of a neat freak. Everything gleamed and the whole room reeked of the kinds of disinfectants favored in large hospitals. Rows of supplies were neatly placed in alphabetical rows along the wall, shifted and adjusted until they were almost perfectly aligned. Obsessive-compulsive, then, with tendencies toward organization and tidiness. This was going to be fun.

The young man himself was rather obvious when they found him. He was of average height with short, neatly styled dark blond hair. His eyes were blue, though nowhere near as pale as Laurent's, and from their shape and his sharp, distinctive features, it was very easy to pick out his German ancestry.

"Who is zhis?" he was asking, giving the Spy's disheveled appearance a scornful look. "Ze Spy? Und vhere has he been?"

Shrugging of the Sniper at last, Laurent made a show of straightening his suit and tie, expression flat. "I have been busy gazhering intelligence on zhe RED team, and I had an unfortunate run-in with zheir Spy. I do not believe we have met. My name is Laurent."

The Medic gave him a leary look, particularly when the Spy offered him a black gloved hand. He did not take it. "Hans." His tone was clipped and curt. "Zhank you for bringing him here, Herr Sniper. I vill take it from here."

Frank just shrugged, turning to leave as Laurent gave Hans another appraising look. Not just obsessive-compulsive then. He seemed almost afraid of human contact. How very interesting. "I would razher keep zhis brief. I have a great deal to go zhrough and-"

"Sit." When Hans interrupted him, Laurent blinked, startled. "After you haff removed your suit, shirt, shoes, und tie. You may leave on vhatever undergarments you vear." He paused, then frowned. "Und zhat ridiculous mask. If I am to give you a full examination, you need to be out of zhose filthy clothes."

Laurent bristled. "I will not take orders from some crazed-"

But Hans interrupted again. "I am not crazed. Und as your physician, vhen you are in my care, you vill do as I say."

A tense moment passed before Laurent finally caved, breathing out heavily through his nose as he pulled off his balaclava, kicked off his wingtips, and started loosening his tie. "Not even dinner and wine first?" he muttered, but the Medic either did not hear him or chose not to acknowledge the barb. He could already feel the German's eyes on the long scar crossing his cheek and nose and had to bite back a grimace, hoping he would not ask. It wasn't a story he wanted to relate. Not right now, and most certainly not to this man.

Much to his relief, the Medic did not bring it up. After staring for several moments, he turned to prep a table and a tray of neatly organized tools. Part of him wanted to just toss his clothes down willy-nilly, just to agitate the man, but he thought better of it. It was never wise to anger the one with the bonesaw when you were otherwise unarmed. Standing there in his boxers and socks, however, he felt uncomfortably exposed and even more aware of how painfully thin and pale he was.

Aside from the angry, sloppily stitched wounds on his abdomen, it was his narrow waist and visible ribs that drew Hans's attention first. Once he had the Spy seated, his long gloved fingers started poking and prodding at his sides. "Tsk. Zo thin. Entirely unhealthy. Do you even eat?"

"Of course I eat," Laurent snapped in reply. "I have a very high metabolism."

Hans snorted but said nothing, moving his attention to the younger man's recent injury instead. His nose wrinkled up distinctly. "Zhis is very poorly treated. Did you do zhis yourself?"

And there was his out. He would much rather be scolded for his poor first aid skills than grilled on the actual events surrounding his mysterious injury. At least the bit about RED Team's Spy hadn't been a lie. "Of course. I have to do my job and I cannot let a little stab wound stop me. I am a Spy. Not a Scout."

"You are lucky you did not bleed out." The Medic wasted no time forcing Laurent to lay back on the bed. "I am going to redress zhese. Lie still."

That little bubble of anger rose in Laurent's chest again. Bailey had not been perfect, and true, his bedside manner had been rather rough, but his messy handiwork was the reason Laurent was still breathing at all. Not that he could let that slip, or let his anger show in his expression or voice. Years of training allowed him to expertly hide his emotions, however, and he managed to simply grit his teeth and lay silent as the medic removed the previous stitching to replace them with smart, even bindings, as accurate as a machine.

Of course, this also meant he took the Spy's silence as a great opportunity to start speaking as he worked, going over exactly how his medical facility would be run. Cleaning policy, dress code, organization and what could and couldn't be taken with and without filling out the proper forms...

The whole thing was entirely boring and Laurent actually found himself zoning out, eyes drifting closed. As he let Hans's words drift into little more than a dull buzz of background noise, he let his mind begin to drift to far more interesting things. Despite Bailey's questionable bedside manner, he had always been gentle in checking Laurent's injuries and in how he handled him whenever the need was there to move or adjust him.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have those rough hands doing things other than checking wounds. Trailing up his sides, tracing the lines of his chest and ribcage, running around to his back to draw him in closer. Bailey had been lean but not nearly as thin as he was, and his mind was racing at the thought of being pressed against that broad, sturdy chest.

Those hands traveling further down, traversing the dip of his lower back, callused fingers pulling on the waistband of his slacks, slipping around to the front to toy with the button...

A sudden pinch to his side brought him painfully back to reality, blue eyes flying wide as he stared up at Hans. The Medic was giving him a strangely wry look and it was in that moment that the Spy realized exactly why this was. Apparently his thoughts were having a far more profound effect on him than he had realized.

"I vas unaware zhat physical examinations vere so exciting to you, Herr Spy," Hans was saying, expression completely flat. "Unless of course you had somezhing else on your mind."

Laurent wasted no time in bolting from the bed, rather glad for the fact that the Medic had taken a step or so back, grabbing his pants to wrest them up his legs as quickly as he could, ignoring how painfully tight they were what with the little problem plaguing his groin. He couldn't help but imagining that the other man was probably smirking at his misfortune. "If zhat is everything, I will be going."

Hans still wasn't smiling, but he was giving the Spy an undoubtedly amused look. "Of course. I would imagine you would want to find somewhere private to deal with that... little problem of yours."

The Spy didn't even give him the pleasure of a backward glance.

* * *

The mood at the RED base may have been somewhat lighter, but for Bailey, it wasn't doing much to soothe his nerves. He was seated quietly up in the nest, staring out over the empty battlefield, watching... waiting. He wanted desperately for something to happen. Just about anything, he wagered, would have been a welcome distraction at about this point. He couldn't quite make sense out of anything that had happened recently. A week spent with the BLU Spy should have been infuriating. It should not have him thinking things that were entirely improper.

It wasn't as though he'd never had thoughts for another man like this, either. He hadn't been lying when he said he'd had trouble with women. While he'd dabbled in both sexes, he'd found himself building easier rapports with those of the same gender, and so most of his partners had been men. Not that he had ever found anyone that suited his tastes.

Or at least, he hadn't yet. Finding someone now seemed rather counterproductive, especially when that someone was not the type of person he should have been associating with. But Laurent had gotten into his head in ways he couldn't quite explain.

He was a protector by nature, and anyone who knew him knew that. He supposed it was probably part of the reason Tristan didn't like him. He had a natural instinct to want to take care of those around him, and keep them safe from things that may not have been the best for them. In Tristan's case, it was Catherine that Bailey tried so hard to keep safe. To him, the Spy was little more than a filthy old lech who needed dealt with at the first possible opportunity.

Who would have guessed Laurent would have provided him with a second opportunity? He was more than certain that the Spy could handle himself in a confrontation, but seeing him torn down and exposed like he had rustled up the urge to try to help him, at least a little bit. Oh, sure, he had blustered on about making sure the Spy got his in the end... a bullet between the eyes at a thousand yards. But could he actually bring himself to make good on his threat?

His lips tightened. No, it was extremely unlikely. If he saw those blue eyes through his scope...

Cursing, the Sniper threw his hat down, scowling at where it lay. Not that his hat had done anything wrong, but it was the nearest thing he could grab that he could throw around without feeling guilty about it later. No use wasting perfectly good jars of jarate, after all, and that would only make a mess he'd have to suffer through cleaning up. Oh, sure, he could always go find Tristan and rough him up a bit, but that would be far more trouble than it was worth.

This whole situation had become absolutely insufferable. He supposed, somewhat hopefully, that this was just a phase. That his reaction to that cattish young Frenchman had just been the fact that being on a battlefield with few romantic prospects tended to mean that you were spending a lot more time with your hand than with someone else in bed. Folks like Idelia were the lucky ones... Artyom would have hung the moon for her.

And it wasn't like he was going to deny that a lot of his time in the day or so since Laurent had left had been spent with fantasies in his head he wished he could get rid of. Even during the time the Spy had spent living in the camper van as he tried to recover from the stab wounds Tristan had no doubt inflicted, Bailey had spent far more time up in the nest than he usually would, and what wasn't spent focusing on the battlefield had been spent, in the latter half of the week, thinking about those pale blue eyes and that slim frame.

It was more than that, though. He was not a social person. Perhaps it was the way he had lived his life, spending most of his time after he was out of the parents' house in the great Australian Outback hunting, seeing and doing things that would cause most people to stop in their tracks and run straight back home. It was rare he had companionship, and it had felt surprisingly natural to sit and talk to the younger man. Laurent was good enough with conversation, and it didn't hurt at all that he was easy on the eyes.

He let out a sigh. Night was falling, and he should probably get to sleep soon. He would have to be up at the crack of dawn to get straight back up here and on to a very long job. The rainstorms of the recent days were still rolling through and BLU was likely still recovering from the hits they took taking the point the other day, bu t that didn't mean they would stop their push. Worse still, he knew that it was very likely that the next time the two teams met for battle, there would be a shimmer of movement and someone would end up with a knife in their back, dropping the cloak of the one man whose face he didn't want to see through the scope.

Picking up his hat, he sighed, climbing back down to slip into the van and put up his rifle. Sydney was at his heels the whole time, and he felt bad for not paying as much attention to his beloved bluey as he normally would, but he was so completely distracted. Grabbing a granola bar, and realizing with some irritation that he was almost out, he sat down on the cot and reached out to pat next to him. Sydney immediately obliged, hopping up next to his master to lean against him happily.

"Be glad yer a dog, Syd," he sighed, reaching up with his free hand to rub between the cockeyed ears. "You don't gotta worry 'bout love or romance or who's warmin' yer bed. You want a lady, I call a breeder an' we get ya hooked up." He chuckled, leaning down to rest his forehead against the dog's, getting himself a long-tongued lick on the cheek for his trouble. "You liked 'im, din't ya? Good fella, fer a BLU, I figure. Let's get some sleep. Big day t'morrow, so long as we don't get rain..."

Distraction. That was all he needed.

* * *

It was over too soon.

He couldn't help but admire her where she was trembling over him, her long, thick winding hair sticking to her face and tumbling over her shoulders as they rose and fell rapidly, catching her breath after her tumultuous release. His hands were still on her hips, pressing as lightly as he could to avoid hurting her, eyes on her flushed face. Red was staining her soft cheeks, lips still swollen, parted as she slowly started to regain some semblance of her usual dignified grace.

Thick fingers played up her sides, brushing the curve of her breasts before cupping her small face. "Ideshenka," he murmured softly. "You are feeling better?"

A smile curved her lips as she managed a shaky sigh, slowly leaning forward to lay fully on top of her partner, giving his shoulder a kiss before settling. "Considerably, mein Bärchen. You alvays know how to settle me down." She shifted slightly, mostly to slip free of an otherwise erotic position but also to get more comfortable, slipping to lay beside her lover. "Zough... zis still is bozhering me. Bailey has been... how do you say... avoidant as of late."

"Lonely, mebbe." Artyom shifted, brushing aside a couple of Idelia's errant curls with one of his large fingers. "Always in de tower, watching. Nobody visit. No place for healthy person." He flicked his hand, somewhat absently. "Or could be getting letters from lady friend back home."

Idelia snorted a bit, rolling her head against her large partner's shoulder. "I zink ve vould know if it was a friend from home. Besides zat, I do not zink Bailey is... mm... into ze women?" When Artyom arched his brow and cast her a curious look, she shrugged. "He has zat air about him."

For a long moment, neither said anything, and Idelia had let her eyes fall closed when Artyom made a surprisingly thoughtful noise. "Dis is about BLU Spy, yes? You said sometink about him before."

That actually caused Idelia to snap her head up, blinking a few times. The world around her was a bit blurry without her glasses on, but it wasn't as though she needed to look at something with this thought in her head. She'd asked him about that Spy, hadn't she? She knew the man had been stabbed, of course. She had seen Tristan sitting in a window cleaning his balisong. The blood trail, according to Cat, had led toward the tower and then vanished. So where had the Spy gone?

It wasn't possible, was it?

No, it couldn't be. In the fight the day before, he had gotten a few good hits in on the BLU Team's Demoman and Soldier. He was clearly still on top of his game, and his head was still in this exactly as it should have been. So why was she even entertaining the thought?

Because she had gotten to know Bailey, that's why. The man was nothing like his younger brother. Flynn was the true Sniper ideal, quiet and resigned. He would take a shot without hesitation, but Bailey was a planner. Bailey always thought things through, which she knew could bring anyone trouble. The Spy had gone to the Sniper nest. Had he disguised himself as a member of RED Team, hoping Bailey would try to aid an injured teammate?

Cat had gone to the tower not long ago, hadn't she? And she had seemed so strangely subdued after the encounter. What was Bailey hiding out there? Her eyes narrowed slightly. She couldn't let this slip. Artyom, bless him, was a Heavy through and through. The thought that a teammate could be a traitor to their team would not sit well with him, and the last thing they needed was the burly Russian stirring up trouble with BLU while they were still recovering from the last fight.

"No, I do not believe zis has anyzink to do vis ze BLU Spy. Perhaps you are right. I zink he is just... lonely."

"Your brother Viktor is with Heavy named Pavel, yes? See if Pavel has sister. Russian girls very nice. Not as nice as Ideshenka... but nice."

The slim woman chuckled, snuggling up close before she gave a long sigh, letting her dark eyes close. "Perhaps, Bärchen. Ve vill see. In ze meanvile, ve should both get some sleep. Perry is wanting to make a push to get ze point back tomorrow and take some of ze pressure off ze Intel team." She patted the Russian's arm, kissing the same spot once she had. "Danke schoen, mein Bärchen, for listening to me."

The Heavy just chuckled, running his fingers down the woman's back. "For you, Ideshenka? Is not'ink. You are always thinking better after good time, da?"

Smiling a bit, Idelia pressed up tightly against her lover, dark eyes falling closed. "Clears my mind. Sleep well, mein Liebling..."

This time, Artyom did not respond. He was already soundly asleep.

* * *

Tendrils of smoke curled around the tall, sturdy figure dressed in red from his head to his ankles. The sun was beginning to rise over the rugged landscape, though the only light it brought was muted by the heavy clouds settling over the area. Another day of rain, though he had a feeling Perry wasn't going to give up his plans for that last push.

So far, things were proceeding exactly as he had anticipated, but there were other things now that were cause for some amount of concern. Besides, if there was one thing Tristan Malveaux hated, it was unproven variables. BLU's new Spy had become that variable, and he was very quickly turning Bailey into a second one. Variables meant more work for him, and while that was not necessarily a bad thing, he knew it could turn around rather suddenly on him.

He had made a preemptive strike, of course. He had made sure to get a good hit in on Laurent, leaving him on shaky, uncertain terms in regards to his team's confidence in his skill. Left untended on his long journey back to the BLU base, he really should have simply bled out and died just as he crossed into their territory. What Tristan hadn't counted on had been the young man's cleverness. Disguising himself as the very man that had inflicted the wound upon him and going to the Sniper's nest.

Of course, under the best circumstances, that would have also solved the issue. Perhaps, he mused, if Bailey had agreed to head to the front instead of sending his brother the better Sniper, in either case along ahead of him, the Spy's life would have ended in one shot directly between the eyes. Bailey, however, was more about planning than action compared to his younger brother, and instead of killing the BLU Spy, he had allowed him to live, giving him basic first aid and nursing him back to health. Even more surprising was how the two had reacted to one another. Not only had they built a friendly rapport, they had genuinely hit it off romantically as well. It was the sort of sickeningly saccharine tale the filmmakers in his home country salivated over.

Making a quiet, thoughtful noise, Tristan pushed to his feet, walking over to a cabinet to unlock and open it, carefully lifting a bottle with one hand as he picked up a brandy snifter with the other. It wasn't like he couldn't make this work. Thoughts and considerations drifted through his mind as he walked across the room, sharp clicks rising from his wingtips, pausing at a dresser across the room to uncap the bottle and carefully pour some of the rich, caramel colored liquid into the glass. Slowly, surely, an idea was beginning to form in that cunning mind.

He pursed his lips, resting a hip against the dresser as he grabbed his lighter, turning the snifter in his gloved hand, waiting patiently. He was a patient man, and patience was exactly what he needed in this case. Let the Australian and the amateur Frenchman carry on their farce. Build it up. Let them have their longing glances and brief kisses, and let them even find their way to bed to consummate their damned union. Tristan would say nothing to them... do nothing. He would leave them to it, for the time being.

Quietly, he swirled the cognac in the glass, lifting it to just beneath his nose to inhale deeply, a smile playing over his thin lips. Indeed. Let them have their day. Tristan would become their night.

* * *

The crack of thunder over the base was loud enough to drown out the words of the Announcer as the round start was chimed. Normally, the two teams avoided fighting in rainstorms, but apparently RED's Soldier was insistant. They would take back the lost control point by any means possible, at any cost, and they would do it today, rainstorm be damned. Laurent was frowning as he pulled on his balaclava, glancing outside. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the looming silhouettes of what little ground RED retained control over, and he couldn't help but grimace. That place looked even more dark and forboding in this atrocious weather.

Hans was busily arguing with Winnie somewhere behind him. The woman was insistant on going out into the fray, despite having taken a bullet not so very long before all of this mess began. She was the sort of person who didn't seem to pay much attention to injuries... at least from what he could tell. Let her fight.

As for Laurent himself, he was doing his best to ignore Frank's eyes boring into the back of his skull. The Sniper clearly suspected he was up to something, but at least he could brush that off to the bushman's distaste for Spies. Laurent wasn't even sure what he was going to do at this point. The best he could hope for was a clean end to this so he could get back and focus his attention on other things. Namely, in trying to get Bailey out of his head. Not, he noted with an unhappy grimace, that it was actually doing him any good. He'd only spent a week with the man. How was it that he had gotten so deeply under his skin?

Another gong indicating the struggle's true start and the various members of the team immediately began to split off in different directions. He watched the young Scout sprint off ahead of anyone else, shouting and laughing as though this were just some sort of silly game. Frank was on his way up to his newest perch, most likely already well armed with everything he would need. God only knew at this point how good any Sniper would be in this blasted storm. As for him? He simply cloaked, all but vanishing from the view of even his own teammates, as he crept quietly across the field.

Right now, he had no interest in killing. His heart wasn't in it. That didn't mean, however, that he couldn't pull off some good old-fashioned disabling. He could see the young Engineer Avery working diligently on a Sentry. Pity it wouldn't stay up very long. Narrowing his eyes, he slipped close, withdrawing an Electro-Sapper from beneath his jacket. He just had to get close while her back was turned. Lightning flashed and a crack of thunder followed it, giving Laurent just enough time to put the device in place.

"What the-..." Avery turned with a startled expression, watching as her Sentry started to break down under the device's assault. "Sentry down! Sentry d-GAH!"

That was something that needed to be cut off and quickly, and Laurent was quick to oblige, snapping the outer edge of his hand to the back of the woman's head with enough force to send her crumpling to the ground unconcious. With any luck, she would stay that way for a while. He huffed, dragging her to the side before dusting off his hands. "Nozhing personal," he grumbled. "I just had to shut you up."

Feeling reassured, and a bit more comfortable in his element, the Spy straightened himself up and adjusted his tie, waiting just long enough for the Sapper to complete its purpose before picking it up and heading on further into RED territory. This was where things were going to become tricky. He could hear the RED Heavy cackling madly, hollering insults at his teammates in a broken mix of English and Russian, taunting them to come after him, even as a faint red glow covered his hulking frame. The lady Medic, her thick curly hair hanging in spirals around her heart-shaped face, was nearby, then. No sign of that spry little Scout girl, which was likely for the best. It was bad enough having to sit and take out Bailey's teammates one by one.

Worse was doing it to continue on with the plan that was very suddenly forming in his head.

It was crazy. It was very possibly suicide. Something in him was urging him on, however, and on he went. Past Perry, wildly swinging at the Pyro Laurent had yet to really talk to. Past Winifred, firing off rockets at Cat as the little Scout taunted and jeered back at her.

Two nights it had been. Just two nights since leaving the Sniper's company, and in those two nights, he had barely been able to sleep. Waking up in a cold sweat with damp sheets and familiar tingling sensations coursing through his limbs was not conductive to getting rest. Even trying to settle himself down before he actually slept wasn't helping. His hand was not exactly a welcome partner at night, and thoughts and fantasies weren't helping things.

No, he had to end this. The thought made him even more keenly aware of the balisong tucked neatly into his pocket, its weight pressing against his thigh. One flipped blade. One quick stab. That's all it would take.

Distracted as he was, he almost missed the Demoman incoming from the left. Realizing his cloak was starting to wear off, he quickly ducked into the shadows, sticking one long leg out just in time to see the other man fumble and trip, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud, cursing in drunken Gaelic into the mud his face had ever so unceremoniously smashed into.

"Ye God-damned, ya alley-skulkin' backstabber! Come out where I can see ya!" He was working to drag himself out of the mud, slipping with an unsurprising lack of grace. "Come out an' die like th' back pokin' snake ya are!"

Laurent huffed a bit. How these drunken boars ever actually managed to get anything done in a fight was simply beyond him. To perform one's job completely drunk seemed rather counterproductive in a situation where he assumed you would need to have as much of your focus on the task at hand as possible. "If I had time, mon ami, I would finish what your liver started." He snapped his arm forward, using his elbow to render the larger man unconscious before standing straight, calmly brushing off the front of his suit as he flipped the Demoman over with his foot. "However, I have much more important zhings to do."

As he waited quietly in the shadows, watching the unconscious drunk with a wary eye, he listened to what he could hear of the battle outside. It didn't seem anyone was making any headway. The storm was too fierce, the rain too heavy, the sky too dark. On the other hand, this gave him the perfect opportunity.

Once the cloak was capable of being used again, Laurent immediately went under, slipping on toward the Sniper nest. It was only as he was moving forward, however, that something occurred to him. In his entire time on this endeavor, he had neither seen nor heard the RED Spy anywhere. There were no shouts that BLU had been attacked. No one had been stabbed or shot at close range. It was almost as if Tristan was nowhere to be found. The thought send a chill racing up the young Spy's spine.

Was Tristan watching him? Did he know where he was headed, or what he was up to? No. There was no way the other Spy could have anticipated this. He clenched his jaw, pale eyes narrowed as he closed the distance to the Sniper nest. He could hear Sydney baying inside the camper van, and he could only assume it was because of the weather. The dog had presented himself as being something of a baby, and he had a feeling he was afraid of being stuck inside the camper while a loud, violent storm and a bloody brawl raged outside where he could plainly hear it.

He took the ladder as quickly as he could, steps light and careful, delicate, easy. He was as quiet as he could possibly manage, knowing full well that the Sniper would not hear him coming even if he was shaking the nest down. Not with the pounding of the rain and the rattling of the thunder that followed almost directly on top of every single flash of lightning.

The Sniper was exactly where Laurent expected him to be, kneeling quietly and staring out into the rain, sunglasses pushed up to rest atop his head. He was grumbling about the rain and the lack of visibility, even as somewhere nearby, a gong sounded that indicated both teams were starting to retreat. The rain was just too heavy, and the visibility too low. No one was getting anywhere, and it was becoming a hassle. Laurent had a choice now, standing soaking wet in the Sniper's loft, completely cloaked.

He could turn around and leave. Walk away. Go back to the BLU base and forget he had ever been up here. Or he could finish what he started.

Just one swipe of the hand. One downward stab. His hand shook as he withdrew the balisong, expertly flipping it open with the dullest click as he crept forward.

Just one stab.

Just one.

He was feet away, jaw clenched so tightly his neck was beginning to ache, shoulders tense and hands shaking as he let his pale eyes drift over the Sniper's unprotected back.

His hand came up. He could end it now. No more fantasizing, no more lack of focus. This was exactly how it was supposed to be.

And he couldn't do it.

Taking a couple of steps back, he let the balisong clatter from his hands, dropping his cloak as Bailey immediately stood and spun, staring down the Spy with an expression somewhere between distrust and uncertainty. His hand was too near his kukri for Laurent's comfort.

"It is me, mon loup," Laurent was saying, his voice much softer than he had intended. "Zhis is... razher awkward."

Bailey frowned, lowering his hands slowly, though he was still clearly not entirely sure of how to react. "What're ya doin' here, spooky? You'll get yerself killed!"

He was keeping his voice quiet as well, proof enough to Laurent that he was trying to keep them from discovery as well. Good. "I couldn't do it." He motioned limply to the balisong laying on the floor beside him, sending a few stray drops of water spattering around it. "I could not kill you. I cannot kill you. I simply... I cannot."

The Sniper's expression had softened now, from wary to uncertain. His dark eyes were searching Laurent's much paler ones before he took a step forward, reaching out to jerk the balaclava from his head. Laurent's hair was as damp as the rest of him, thick, platinum curls sticking out in odd directions as he stood in silent waiting.

"So what's your game?" Bailey's tone was dark and unpleasantly serious, his eyes never once leaving the Spy's fair face. Outside, the gong chimed again. The round was being called as a draw. "Gimme the truth. Right here. right now. Why did you come back? Why didn't you just put that damn knife b'tween my shoulders like you just had th'chance to?"

Laurent didn't reply at first. He just watched Bailey's face, frowning softly, his hands shaking a bit at his sides. Finally, though, he stepped forward. Bailey was taller than he was by at least a head, but raised hands could solve that. He cupped the Sniper's rough face and drew him down, pressing his lips firmly over the other man's, letting his eyes fall closed and hoping to all he could think of that he didn't find himself with a kukri in his gut for his trouble.

The response, however, was far different. Bailey tensed only briefly before he let his shoulders droop somewhat, awkwardly bringing up his large hands to grip the Spy's narrow waist, uncertain of what else to do with them. They stayed like that for a long moment until Laurent finally drew back for lack of air, breathing heavily as he stared up at the tall Sniper. Bailey just looked back at him with a quizzical expression, though he didn't seem at all put off by what had just happened. Just... confused.

"I am coming to you right now as just me, mon loup," Laurent replied softly, swallowing hard against a nervous lump forming in his throat. "No tricks. No cons. No nozhing. I come before you exactly as I am. I cannot get you out of my 'ead. I want to know if you feel zhe same way. I must know. I want to know I am not mad, and zhat zhis is not just some... passing whimsy. I don't know if we can make zhis work, but I want to know zhe honest truth from you. If I were to give myself to you right now, wizhout question... would you have me?"


	5. Chapter 5

For a moment, Bailey felt like he couldn't breathe. His fingers were still clenched on Laurent's hips, digging in so tightly he was sure he would leave bruises. A spicy taste lingered on his lips, like cinnamon, and part of him wanted to draw the Spy in for another, deeper kiss. Was he really that intoxicated by the Spy? Laurent's question was still forefront in his mind. How was he supposed to answer something like that? It wasn't as though he hadn't entertained the notion of some illicit romance... the young Spy pressed against his body until both knew he could stay no longer before arousing suspicion. But could they? He had dismissed it previously as a passing fancy, but now, with the younger man here in his arms...

It was then that he realized he had hesitated far too long, as Laurent's brow had furrowed and he had started to step away. Acting on sheer instinct and a feeling he knew was dangerous, Bailey reacted immediately, almost roughly pulling Laurent up close to press their lips together again, one hand coming up to tangle in the pale curls at the base of the Spy's head, free hand sliding around to the small of his back. It was Laurent's turn to be startled by the turn of events, but before long he was responding, parting his lips with a small, eager sound, and Bailey was more than happy to accept that invitation.

Maybe it was just lust... maybe it was just the strain of long, lonely nights with no companionship. Call it whatever, but the slim body pressed against him felt natural, like he was meant to be there, and the aftertastes of cigarettes, cinnamon, and wine were combining to draw him in even deeper. When the Sniper finally drew back, Laurent was clinging to him tightly, cheeks flushed and pale eyes hazy. "Mon Dieu," he murmured, a faint smile lighting up his face. "I suppose I should take zhat as a yes."

"I reckon you'd better, spooky," Bailey mock growled, resting his forehead against the shorter man's. Laurent just smiled up at him. It was so strange. For someone so capable of killing without a second thought, the Frenchman looked so utterly angelic. "I'm not too keen on letting you go."

Bailey wasn't entire certain how much time passed after that. From the point the next kiss started to this moment, Laurent's back pressed against his chest and both of them breathing erratically, trying to orient themselves after an encounter neither expected, it was all rather blurry. The Sniper gave a low shudder as he recounted the situation. The Spy's hands on his chest, lower, and his own rather immediate reaction. Long fingers closing on slim arms, drawing him in. They hadn't even fully managed to shed their clothes in the process. What an awkward situation.

Laurent was stirring underneath him now, trembling frame lifting just a little bit as he gave a shaky laugh, black gloved palms still pressed against the wall as he curled his fingers. "Zhat was almost undoubtedly zhe most uninhibited thing I 'ave ever done." He smiled weakly over his shoulder, cheeks pink. "Did we just make a mistake?"

"No." He was almost surprised at how forceful his own voice sounded, but he refused to believe that something had gone wrong with this whole scenario. Maybe they'd moved too fast and jumped straight to this step without considering the consequences of their actions, but Bailey did not consider it a mistake. And considering he hadn't ended all this mess with a balisong in his back, he supposed it was a win-win situation. Pressing a kiss to the Spy's neck before withdrawing and helping him straighten both himself and his disheveled, partly discarded clothes, he sighed. "Well... maybe. You're BLU's Spy. I'm RED's Sniper. By all intents, your bein' here at all is a problem, lettin' alone th'fact that I just had a root with you in my nest... yeah, I'd say we're definitely doin' somethin' dangerous. But a mistake? No."

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment before Laurent pursed his lips, reaching out to straighten Bailey's pants with an almost playful jerk. "Well, I cannot argue with zhat logic. Zhough... I don't know. I am glad we did what we did, but I cannot help but zhink zhis will cause trouble down zhe line... we should be trying to kill one anozher, mon loup, not stealing kisses like school children."

That made Bailey snort and grin, reaching out to ruffle the Spy's unruly platinum curls. "If it makes ya feel any better, spooky, I sorta feel like a school kid right now. All misbehavin' while th'teacher's back's turned... feels good. 'sides that, the old fella ain't seen much action since I got out t'this shit house place... and it ain't like I've been much able t'get you out of my head." He let his hand drop back to his side as Laurent made a show of fussily straightening his tie, trying to look indignant. He was failing at it. "I wouldn't have chosen anyone else. I want you t'know that."

"It isn't as zhough we 'ave many choices." He sounded almost skeptical, but when he looked up at Bailey's face, he finally let a smile shine through, giving a deep sigh. "I hope you do not suspect I am just playing you for a fool."

The Sniper shrugged absently, picking up his belt. "Well... I had that thought, at first. Then I figured... that kinda ruse? Anyone with half a brain in their 'ead could see through it. You're a good Spy. I've seen my fair share, an' you move better'n half a' them, but you're smarter'n most, too. And a long time'a watchin' you spooks has made it a lot easier for me t'read ya. You weren't playin' me. You aren't playin' me now." He paused, then reached out, resting a hand on Laurent's shoulder. "How long you got?"

"Probably not as long as I would like, zhough I am very good at coming up with stories." He flicked his fingers, grinning. "Your patch job got me a scolding for how poorly I stitched my own stomach."

Finally, Bailey laughed, closing the distance between them in two long steps before he leaned in for another kiss, cupping Laurent's face in his hands. "Come down t'the camper with me. Ain't no one out in this weather, and you'll catch your death in that wet suit..."

Laurent's expression turned mock indignant, fluttering his lashes like a flirty girl. "Monsieur, are you suggesting I come to your residence and undress? How very untoward of you. But 'owever could I deny you? You do make a very convincing argument..."

Smiling, Bailey shook his head a little. "You're a little minx you are, you know that?" He stretched his arms over his head. "I'll go down first. Make a show of lettin' Sydney out t'do his business. You cloak and slip in while I've got th'door open. Deal?"

It was the first time that evening Bailey had seen Laurent hesitate, but finally, he nodded. "I will see you zhere, mon loup."

He faded out of sight an instant later, and Bailey nodded, heading down the ladder to the camper below.

* * *

Well. That had gone much quicker than he'd thought. The rain beating on the nest above, coupled with the occasional roar of thunder and the howling wind all around, had coupled to drown out most of the sound in the area, but a trained ear was easily capable of hearing the sounds of the two men giving in to baser instincts in the sniper's lofty perch. Tristan really had guessed at least a few more days before Laurent would approach Bailey romantically, let alone sexually, but still, the outcome was exactly what he had suspected and it placed his plans directly back on track.

To be honest, he was much more impressed with how Laurent had gotten this far to begin with. Both Avery and Callum had been exceptionally lucky. The Spy had taken them unconscious as opposed to killing them, and the ease and grace with which he had done so proved a skilled killing machine beneath the exterior of a man who seemed to prefer more nonviolent answers to his problems.

The rain had really been rather fortuitous, in the end. It allowed him to follow his target, track his movements, and determine exactly what he was up to without much suspicion. The rain had washed away any evidence of footprints, leaving both Spies to move without detection, and with the BLU Spy completely unaware that his RED counterpart was following him. Laurent was good, the dark-haired man mused, but he was better. Not at all a surprise.

The last lingering sounds of the pair's lovemaking had died down by this point, if making love was truly what one might call an encounter almost purely driven by lust. Rutting may have been a more appropriate word, but it was based in the framework of a genuine, solid relationship the two had already begun to build, and while the RED Spy was certain they would both likely entertain some guilt over their actions, he doubted that was going to stop them. Whether Laurent was going to stay hanging around after all of this was what remained to be seen. Would he head back to the BLU base, or would Bailey convince him to stay?

He could hear voices, but the storm was too loud to make out what they were saying. The waiting was the worst part. He desperately wanted a cigarette, but there was no guarantee Laurent was smoking right now, and if he wasn't, the smell of the smoke - even lingering and faint through the wind and rain - would be a dead giveaway of someone else nearby. Sure, they may've suspected Callum or even Perry, but he didn't want to risk it. Too few smokers, and to get this close without early detection, he was really the most logical answer.

The sound of the hatch unlocking above him was what truly spurred him to action. Immediately, Tristan cloaked, taking a few steps back, swishing his feet in the mud to erase his own tracks. Bailey came down moments later, glancing overhead as if checking for something before slipping into the camper. He was talking to that dog... damn. If he let Sydney out, he was found for sure. Though the fact that the Sniper had his wits about him enough to let the dog out at all proved what Tristan had been trying to discover. Laurent was not leaving. Bailey was covering and providing a distraction so the younger man could slip down to the camper without hindrance.

Tristan smiled to himself. Oh, if only they knew their audience. Quickly, he headed back toward the base, listening to the fading sound of Sydney barking excitedly at raindrops, uncloaking only when he was close enough to see the lights of the shabby old red building's interior. Cat was peeking out the door, her short red-blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and she gave him a quizzical look. "There you are. What're you doin' out there in the rain anyway?"

The Spy gave a soft chuckle, leaning down to kiss the top of her hatless head. "Just making one last sweep, ma bichette. Let us retire. It is cold and damp and I know zhe perfect way to warm up..."

Before the slight Scout had a chance to make a comment, Tristan's gloved hand was at the small of her back, letting the kidskin leather brush up under the edge of her shirt to the sensitive skin beneath. It didn't take any more persuading than that. Had he been anymore forward, the Scout would've probably dashed off ahead of him before he had a chance to catch his breath.

It was always a treat to watch her walk, either way. Cat was short for her age, barely reaching 5'2" in height, with a soft, babyish round face and big green eyes that peeked past her hair whether or not she was wearing her hat. As soon as they'd passed over the threshold into his room and the door was closed and locked behind them, he had her against the wall.

True, Cat was a bit older than he normally preferred. From the look of her, though, most people didn't suspect she was much over 14 until they saw her papers. He'd been rather surprised himself before doing some digging. Nice as it would have been, he knew RED wasn't going to hire on a child to do the work of a Scout.

Other than that, however, she had all the appearance of a girl six years her junior, and for a man as active as Tristan, that was enough. She still made convincing little squeaking sounds when he got right down to business, pushed his hands away when he let them wander, and blushed in the absolute cutest fashion when she was aroused. He had his lips at her throat, hands working up the red tank top, ignoring any protest she feebly made. It wasn't as though she actually held to any of those protests. She wanted this every bit as much as he did.

She always gave in anyway, in the end. He didn't know why she bothered to resist at all. Pulling off the shirt, the Spy gave an almost predatory growl. He could focus on his other problem some other time...

* * *

Dawn came a little earlier than Bailey wanted, accompanied by the soft thrum of rain against the roof of the camper. There was a still weight against his chest... he would've almost suspected it was Sydney if not for the distinct lack of fur. He tightened his arms around the slim figure, lifting his head with a groggy sound to be greeted by a mess of pale blond curls and the thin, pale frame of Laurent. He knew he should be feeling concern, remorse, or even fear... but laying there like they were, watching the slow rise and fall of the slim Frenchman's shoulder and back as he slept, he could only feel a sense of contentment.

Had they made a mistake? Possibly. Did he care?

Images flashed through his recent memory of the young man in his arms and how it felt to actually bed someone he had a spark for.

No. No, he didn't care. Not right now. He would worry about the repercussions later. One hand came up to run long fingers through the platinum curls, smiling when the gesture caused Laurent to stir. The Spy shifted, lifting his head sleepily, blue eyes unfocused and bleary. Once he was aware enough to register where he was, a smile split his soft features as he brought his hands up to cradle Bailey's face, sliding up gracefully to press their lips together. The kiss was much tender, lacking the passion and urgency it held the night prior, replaced by a certain gentle affection.

"Bon matin, mon loup," he murmured softly, still close enough that their lips brushed. It was a surprisingly electrifying feeling, and Bailey reached up to draw the smaller man closer in response. Laurent did not resist, chuckling softly. "Je vous remercie pour la nuit dernière. I really... I almost expected you to turn me away, you know."

While Bailey barely spoke enough French to even remotely understand what Laurent had said, he did get the gist. Stealing another quick kiss, he sank back into the pillows with a lazy smile. "To be fair, I was afraid our next meetin' would involve a lot more knife b'tween my shoulders."

The Spy scoffed, plucking in an absentminded fashion at the mat of dark curls on the Sniper's broad chest. "You wound me. I don't zhink I could go zhrough wizh 'arming you... not after zhe time we spent togzher. I know... a week is not a long time. But I feel as if we 'ave... mm... 'ow do you say...?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "We 'ave connected. I 'ave always felt zhere is someone for everyone. Zhough I must admit... our situation is razher unusual."

"Can't deny that," Bailey mused, eyes following every movement Laurent's hands made. "You know, spooky... much as I love watchin' ya tease me there, I need t'feed my dog. Then you can do as you please."

Though Laurent put on a pout at that, his tone was good-natured. "Really, I am simply content to simply lay here wizh you. But Sydney does need your attention." He slipped away gracefully, stretching with a yawn, dim light from a nearby old lamp dancing shadows across his thin frame. "I expect he is probably getting razher jealous."

Bailey almost snorted when he laughed, letting his arm drop over the side of the cot. He was not at all surprised to have his fingers connect with a furry head. Moments later, the bluey was on his feet and trotting around, barking happily. "What? Ol' Syd get jealous? S'long as he gets attention, he don't much get jealous. Likes you well enough already anyway."

The Sniper rolled out of bed with a sort of awkward grace, not bothering with shorts as he ambled over to the counter to pick up a can and an opener, watching as Sydney jumped around excitedly, impatient as ever. He could feel the Spy's eyes on him, and for once, he didn't mind. It was a pleasant feeling, having someone look at him like that.

"A bit of afterglow looks good on you, mon loup," he was saying, a teasing note to his rich tenor. "Among other zhings..."

That made Bailey chuckle a bit, watching as Laurent gave another fluid stretch. Tearing his eyes away from the Spy, he focused instead on pouring the mush of dog food into Sydney's dish. He just needed to feed the dog. With that done, he could focus more readily on a growing distraction his own body was reminding him of and on the show the Spy was putting on.

It was as he was musing this that a knock came at the camper's door. Three sharp raps, light but clear. Both Sniper and Spy immediately froze, staring. Who in the world would be out this early, this far, in the pouring rain?

Immediately, Bailey's muscles tensed. This was such a Tristan tactic he could almost taste it. He hadn't even noticed Laurent scramble to put on his underwear and cloak, just as the three knocks repeated. This time, however, they were followed directly by a light, feminine voice. "Bailey? I do hate to bozher you so early, but zhis rain is very cold..."

"Idelia?" Startled out of his earlier concern, the Australian hunter made a disgruntled sound, grabbing a pair of shorts and slacks. "I'm in th'damn buff, Idelia! Wait a minute..."

He could hear the Medic scoff on the other side of the door. "It isn't as zhough I have not seen you nude..."

Muttering his annoyance and hoping Laurent found a good place to hide, Bailey latched the button on his slacks, swinging the door open. The dark-eyed German was standing quietly beneath an umbrella, smiling up at him with alarming pleasantness. Suddenly feeling very awkward, Bailey cleared his throat loudly. "Uh... yeah, s'pose y'have..."

"It is all right. Clearly I have interrupted your private time. Zhis is a perfectly acceptable reason to be disconcerted." Her smile never faltered, which only served to further deepen the cold pit in Bailey's stomach. "In eizher case... guten Morgen. May I come in?"

Not that he wanted to, but it was unwise to cross a woman who frequently held your life in her hands on the field... especially one as mentally unstable as Idelia Fleischer. He nodded and stepped aside, allowing the woman to step past him before offering to take her raincoat and umbrella. As she shed her coat and handed him the soggy umbrella, he nudged the door closed with his foot. "What brings you out here this early in th'day?"

Idelia didn't answer at first, kneeling down to stroke Sydney's ears and neck affectionately as she cooed, murmuring affection to the bluey in German. Once she was finished, she slid to her feet and regained her composure gracefully, brushing off her knees. Then, she turned her attention on Bailey, gazing up through her lashes at him. "You can tell him to uncloak. I am, as you can clearly see, completely unarmed."

Bailey froze, eyes wide as he stared at the slim woman. She was watching him carefully, judging his reactions, and it really wasn't doing anything to help his mood. Had Cat blabbed? No, Cat was chatty, but she knew when a secret needed to be kept. His next thought was not accusatory of anyone, but instead it frantic. He needed to convince her she was mistaken and he was alone. Not that he had any idea of how he was going to do that or even whether or not such a plan would work to begin with. "Don't know what yer on about, Idelia. There ain't no one here but me an' Sydney."

The dog gave a happy bark at hearing his name, too distracted by the familiar face to go sniffing for where Laurent had gone, but Idelia did not look at him. She just glanced around, absently twirling a long curl around her finger. "You do not smoke, und I smell cigarettes. You wear no cologne und take your coffee black... und I smell cinnamon." Her expression turned sharp, dark eyes snapping back onto Bailey as though he was a misbehaving child. "I vas not born yesterday. I know he is here. As I said, I am completely unarmed."

The silence was heavy, but moments later, Laurent slowly faded into view, pale eyes narrowed. He was still mostly unclothed, shoulders drawn back and cheeks flushed. "Bravo, Medic," he growled lowly. "Very clever."

"Not so much clever as observant," Idelia responded in a cool tone, flipping her hair back. "So. You are zhe BLU Spy."

Laurent lifted his head just slightly, never taking his eyes off the woman. His posture was stiff and rigid, a line visible against his narrow cheeks from how tightly his jaw was clenched. "Wizh pride," he replied tightly, keeping his hands still at his sides. "You are not what I expected, you know... you are very delicate looking for zhe woman who so artistically vivisected my predecessor."

"Size does not much matter." The woman leaned down, picking up a piece of fabric from the floor: Laurent's balaclava. "It is, as I am told, how vun uses it. Am I right, Bailey...?"

Snapped back to attention by the fact she had addressed him directly, the Australian scowled, eyes narrowing. "What th'hell's this all about? Y'come out here t'play some damn game then run off t'tell Perry?"

Idelia gave him a long, scrutinizing look, then glanced away, looking toward the enemy Spy, letting her eyes drift over his thin frame, taking in his posture and general build. "Vould you try to kill me if I said yes?" When Laurent visibly tensed, Bailey blanched. The German woman, however, just laughed brightly at the immediate reaction she received for her words. "Vunderbar! Zhe Spy has a sense of self-preservation. Glad to see it." Then it was like someone flicked a switch. All at once, the smile was gone, and Idelia's appearance was every bit as frigid as her demeanor. "I have no plans to tell Perry anyzhing, but I vant you to keep vun zhing very plain in your mind. You are playing a very dangerous game, Bailey. In case you had not noticed? Zhis suit is not red. It is blue. I do not much care who you take to your bed, but ozhers vill." She tossed the balaclava back to Laurent, who caught it with a nasty scowl. "Und Herr Spy? I vill not actively seek you out for Bailey's sake, but get too close to my team und I vill leave so little of you zhat your remains vill fit in a shoebox." That unnerving smile returned to her face, eyes piercing. "Do I make myself clear?"

Though Laurent smiled as well, the expression lacked mirth or humor. "As crystal, mademoiselle. Likewise... I shall show no mercy if you come after me."

As though the conversation just passed had not contained threats of violent death, Idelia tossed back her long mess of curls with a brilliant smile. "Good. I am glad to see ve are seeing zhis eye to eye." Kneeling again, she reached out to scratch Sydney's chin and ears. "I vill leave you to your dalliance, gentlemen. Auf wiedersehen."

She had collected her coat and umbrella and was gone just as quickly as she arrived. After the door was closed, neither of the pair moved until they were certain she was out of earshot. That was when Laurent exploded, flinging his balaclava at the door with an angry snarl. "Dalliance! Zhe nerve of zhat infuriating, horrible woman! To call zhis a dalliance! Zhis is not some... some cheap fling! Zhat is an insult! To bozh of us!"

Bailey was honestly almost surprised. While shaken and angry, he felt no real fury. He was angrier over Idelia's approach than her words, but something about the words she happened to choose apparently seemed to strike a nerve with the younger man. HE frowned, then walked over to quietly draw Laurent close, tucking the Spy's head beneath his chin. Every muscle in the slender, pale frame was drawn taut. "Easy, Spooky," he soothed quietly. "Maybe she just didn't know th'right word in English...?"

"Zhe witch speaks zhree languages ozher zhan German, and all of zhem fluently." Despite his harsh tone, it was clear he was doing his best to relax in the Sniper's grip. "She knew perfectly well what she was saying."

Though still quite irate, the younger man shifted so he could rest his head against Bailey's shoulder, closing pale eyes as he tried his hardest to relax completely. It didn't really seem to be working at first, though as the minute's passed, the Spy's shoulders slowly began to droop and he shuddered heavily. Bailey warily withdrew his arms to put his hands on Laurent's shoulders. "You okay there, Spooky?"

The fair man frowned, but he did give a very faint nod. "I am sorry. Per'aps it is a poor trait for a Spy to be so excitable, but certain zhings... really agitate me. I apologize for losing my composure, mon loup."

"Ain't no need t'apologize. I totally get why yer upset. Jes' spooked me is all. You..." He trailed off. He didn't want to say it, but it was the honest truth, as much as he wished things could somehow be different. "You should prob'ly head back. Ain't at all safe right now... not for either one of us."

Laurent pursed his lips, expression unhappy. It was clear he didn't want to leave, but he was well aware the Sniper wasn't just saying this for fun. He lifted his hands, running delicately across the larger man's chest. He was pressed up close now, in a proximity that made Bailey almost too keenly aware of him. "I know. I know, I just... don't want to go. What we want and what we get, 'owever, are often two very different monsters, mon loup... am I right?"

It was all Bailey could do at that point to resist giving in to his baser instincts. He wanted to pull the Spy close, lock him in, and never let him go, but that was a foolish idea. Instead, he stepped back from the smaller, younger man, briefly cupping his face. "Yer always welcome t'come by." He paused. "If y'think it's safe enough to."

The Spy gave a wry smile at that, stretching onto his tip-toes to steal another lingering kiss. "I will 'old you to zhat. Until we meet again, mon loup."

He was quick to get dressed and gone just as suddenly. Bailey just sighed, laying back on the cot, closing his eyes as he let the lingering smells of cigarettes and cinnamon clinging to his pillow lull him back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sun had finally crept well up over the horizon, lending a murky light to the battlefield through the thick clouds and still falling rain, when Bailey got himself dressed and headed back up toward the base. With the muddy ground and the silent alarms, the Sniper was led to deduce that the weather had resulted in an impromptu cease-fire. Sydney was trotting along happily behind him, barking at puddles and trying to bite the falling rain. The dog would be a mess later, but he didn't mind. The old boy needed the workout.

Hopefully this endeavor wouldn't take too long anyway. He just needed to pick up some coffee filters and be on his way. After telling Sydney to stay, he opened the door and stepped inside, only to nearly run headlong into a tall, slender figure wearing a sleek, pressed Italian suit in a deep, rich red.

Tristan. Fantastic.

The Spy was wearing a languid smile, looking Bailey over as he lifted a black gloved hand to take a draw from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. "So." A smile curled his lips, blowing smoke out through his nose. "Zhe mighty 'unter graces us wizh 'is presence. I suppose I should be impressed."

"Piss off, Tristan. I'm in no mood t'talk t'you. Jes' wanna get some filters." He was scowling now. The last thing he wanted to do right now was deal with the creepy Frenchman, but Tristan wasn't moving. "Y'mind?"

Tristan just smirked, flicking some ash from the end of his cigarette. "Zhere is somezhing different about you, Bailey... new 'at? Non... zhat is not it. Shaved? Oh, certainly not. Oh! I see! You 'ave 'ad sex recently!" When Bailey jerked back, expression darkening further, the other man just let his grin grow wider. "Mm. No, I take zhat back. Why would anyone want to see a filzhy, piss jar zhrowing bushman in zhe nude? Even wizh zhe lights off. I mean, if your arms are any indication of zhe rest of your body, you must be 'iding a whole fur rug under your shirt."

The longer Tristan talked, the more Bailey felt his mood souring. For someone who made it a point to look nothing short of the very picture of class in the field, the RED Spy spent very little time showing it. Any lingering good mood the Sniper had gained from his long night with Laurent was fast fading. "Don't you got nothin' better ta do with yer time than harass me, ya dirty snake?"

"You wound me, Bailey. I am just 'aving a little fun wizh you." Tristan mock pouted, eyes flashing. "Zhe only person 'ere who gets angry at me for it. You are a puzzling man. It is no wonder you cannot find a date. You act as zhough you would run me zhrough for some 'armless ribbing!"

Scowling, Bailey moved to step around him. "Don't tempt me."

This time, Tristan swept aside, though he gave an indignant sniff. "You 'ave no sense of 'umor, Sniper. Like a big, grumpy bear."

"S'almost cute how you think I give a flyin' rat's arse..." snarled Bailey, moving past to head into the mess area. His scowl deepened. Charming... the leech was following him. "Somethin' you need?"

Tristan just shrugged, taking a casual drag from his cigarette. "You are 'eading zhe same way as me. Cazherine is in zhe mess."

All at once, Bailey felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was one thing to be aware that Tristan was rooting around with the tiny Scout... but quite another to watch him interact with the girl, touching and gentling her. Tristan was very nearly Bailey's age, only two years his junior, and Cat's first lover. She was barely eighteen. The thought remained unsettling to him.

But then, something struck him. Was he any better? Here he was pushing 40, and he'd spent the previous night having sex with a man he was certain was more than ten years younger than him. A cold pit dropped into his stomach. Was Tristan grinning?

When his attention turned to the Spy, however, it didn't appear he noticed Bailey's expression shift. They had reached the mess and he was already looking around for Cat. Bailey took that as a sign and quickly slipped away, grabbing a pack of coffee filters before rushing back outside. Sydney was sitting in the rain, happy as could be, but even the cheerful energy of his beloved cattle dog could not dispel that cold pit in his stomach. Was he no better than Tristan?

Inside the mess, Tristan was smiling to himself. How sweet it was that Bailey had such an overdeveloped moral sense. His own relationship with Cat was in an entirely different league. The RED Sniper and the BLU Spy had genuine feelings for one another, which made planting these little seeds of doubt – however seemingly innocent they were – that much more amusing. Laurent may have been young, besides, but he had seen and experienced things that would horrify men twice his age. Those lovely ice blue eyes, so piercing, had not become that way overnight.

Thoughtfully, the RED Spy stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. He had a call to make.

* * *

Part of Matt was genuinely bothered that he was not surprised to see Laurent creeping into the mess at such an early hour. He was a Spy, after all, and Spies were prone to creeping about. Scouts, he considered, not so much. So it was that he stood from one of the long tables, jogging over to where the slim man in the blue suit was fishing for a clean coffee cup. "Hey, Laurent! We was wonderin' where you got to!"

"I was doing reconnaissance at zhe RED Base. My predecessor did not leave much in zhe way of zhat. Sloppy... bad Spy work. Really, I 'ave known children wizh better work ezhic..." He trailed off, then gave the young Scout a long look. "You're up early."

The Scout blinked, then gave a slight shrug. "Old habits die hard, I guess. I can never get a good night's sleep here."

To his surprise, Laurent's expression turned almost friendly. "'omesick, per'aps? You are from Boston, correct?"

Matt blinked, but he couldn't help the faint smile drifting onto his face. "Yeah. I guess. Maybe a little homesick, yeah. I'm from a big family, and we were all pretty close. It's tough bein' so far away, y'know?" He plunked into a nearby chair as Laurent poured himself a cup of coffee. "What about you, man? You ever miss France?"

The question gave Laurent pause. He stood in silence for a moment or two before he just smiled, moving to sit near the young Scout. "Zhere is nozhing left for me in France. I left Paris at fifteen and 'ave not looked back since."

"Really?" Matt was starting to get genuinely interested. Their previous Spy hadn't been nearly so open. "Nothin' at all there you wanna go back to? No family?"

The Spy chuckled faintly. "Not a zhing. I 'ave very little family, zhough none I am close to, and... well, I suppose I was simply never meant for zhe land of lovers. I needed a bit more adventure in my life. You know 'ow it is, I am certain. Surely a strapping young man such as yourself does not leave a large, loving family for no reason at all." He smiled when Matt gave a sheepish grin, ears turning pink. Satisfied with that response, Laurent took a sip of his coffee and continued, allowing himself to drift into a different subject entirely. "So. 'as our Soldier given any orders?"

Matt actually grinned when the Spy asked that. "Not yet, but we should be makin' a push sometime this week. They've just got one open control point left. When we take it, they'll hafta fall back and we'll be primed to get the intel and end all this!"

An end to the war. Laurent couldn't deny that it was a lovely thought. Freedom to do as he pleased with whomever he pleased. The thought of making sure Bailey stayed safe, then running off to Australia with him... it would never be that easy, he realized, but nothing worthwhile ever was. Only one thing bothered him. "What about RED's intel team?"

"Eh, I doubt they'll be much of an issue," replied the Scout. "We'll be focusin' our efforts on distractin' those dirty REDs. Our intel team'll really be punchin' it up. Maybe you'll get a shot at takin' out both those Snipers, huh?"

All at once, Laurent could find no interest in his coffee. Matt's words had brought another, more unsettling thought to the forefront of his mind. He would not be the only Spy. BLU had another Spy at Intel, named Michel, and it was part of a Spy's job to take out any enemy Snipers so that they couldn't complicate issues on the field. This initially had the potential of being a blessing, but now there were too many variables. Too many things that could go wrong. He found himself wishing he hadn't left the Sniper's company. "Excuse me, Matt. I apologize. I am very tired... it 'as been a long night."

He didn't wait for the young Scout's reply, instead heading straight back to his room.

* * *

The next few nights were tense. Laurent, following Idelia's rather rattling appearance in the camper and the news that they would soon be making one final hard push for the last control point, stayed clear of the Australian as much as he could, no matter how much he missed Bailey's company. Neither of them needed the extra scrutiny, and with no idea when Winifred planned to launch her attack, it was probably better to err on the side of caution. The third night, however, saw him asked to do some extra recon. It was the perfect excuse.

The nest was empty when he first arrived, so his next stop was the camper van. There was the Sniper inside, fletching some arrows casually, lounging in jeans and a button-up short sleeved shirt undone halfway down his chest. Laurent smiled, then quietly made his way inside.

"I was startin' to wonder if you'd forgotten about me, Spooky." Bailey didn't turn when he spoke, but something in his tone sent an unpleasant chill down Laurent's spine. "Maybe woulda been better that way..."

Laurent frowned, moving over to sit on the floor in front of the Sniper, arms folded across the larger man's knees. "You seem troubled, loup. Is somezhing zhe matter?"

The Sniper went still, staring down into the pale eyes fixed on him. One broad hand lifted, gently brushing Laurent's cheek with rough fingertips. "How old are you, Laurent?"

"Silly question," Laurent teased, lifting a hand to take Bailey's in a gentle grip. "But I will 'umor you. I am 24, just this year."

At that, Bailey withdrew his hand. "I'm goin' on 39 right now. This ain't right, Spooky, I... I'm damn near fifteen years older'n you!"

The Spy wrinkled his nose with a small scoff. "And that is an issue why? I am not a child, Bailey; I am a grown man."

"Yeah, but," Bailey countered, "you ain't had a chance t'see what th'world has t'offer! You don't gotta settle fer a washed up ol' mongrel like me..."

Silence fell between the two as Laurent slowly stood, moving forward until he could settle in Bailey's lap, curling contentedly against his broad chest. He tugged off his balaclava, laying it aside. "Did you know I ran away from 'ome when I was barely fifteen?" He paused, but not with enough time for Bailey to speak. "I did. I lived on zhe streets of Paris for two monzhs, stealing just to survive. I ended up rescued by a man in a fine blue suit, 'is face covered by a mask... a Spy. Zhat man trained me, taught me to be a Spy. Zhat same man, about a week before my sixteenzh birzhday... he..." He trailed off. "I remember 'is 'ands... 'is eyes, and zhat smile. 'e is zhe one who gave me zhis scar." He brought Bailey's hand up to touch the scar crossing his face, watching the Sniper's expression carefully. "'e gave me many of my scars. And so you know, I 'ave 'ad many lovers since zhen, but you... you are zhe only one I 'ave ever shared a deep bond wizh... zhe only one I 'ave desired to stay wizh. I want no one else." For emphasis, he kissed the tip of the Sniper's nose. "I am a young man, true... but I 'ave an old soul."

He was relieved to watch Bailey relax the longer he spoke, despite a clearly defensive moment of tension when the mystery Spy was mentioned. Laurent smiled, wanting nothing else but to keep the Sniper feeling this settled, and he leaned in to wrap his arms around the older man's neck, bringing his face in for a kiss.

The arrows dropped to the floor forgotten as Bailey moved to embrace the Spy on instinct, eyes falling closed at the first contact. There was no desire for sex in the kiss; just a need to be held and loved. The Sniper was more than happy to oblige, pushing the unpleasant thoughts of their age difference out of his head, allowing Laurent to do as he pleased. They stayed tangled together till nearly dawn, listening to nothing but one another, and Bailey would have been contented to stay this way well into the new day had the shrill, piercing sound of one of the alarms not broken through their reverie.

A chill went straight up Laurent's back. Why now? That crazy old bat! Had she suspected him captured? Is that why she had done this?

Bringing his hands up to Bailey's face, he captured him in another long, deep kiss. They were both panting when they finally broke away. "Our curse, mon amour. Please... stay safe."

Bailey frowned, jerking Laurent close again, their lips meshing together firmly. Once freed, he closed his eyes, their breath mingling. "I will. But you gotta be careful too, Spooky." The Spy just smiled, briefly caressing Bailey's cheek before he stood and vanished. Bailey blinked, then glanced all around him. "I mean it, spook! You hear me?"

His only answer was the wailing of the alarm.


	6. Chapter 6

_**((I don't usually do Author's Notes in this, but this one is for ease of reading. Later, there's a lot of dialogue in italics. That's the main characters speaking in French to one another. The more you know~! Carry on. XD))**_

The rain had slowed to a stop at last just a couple of days before, which left the earth around the forts damp, but not entirely muddy. It may not have been the most ideal time for a fight, but it was the best they were going to do. Besides, anything was better than the powerful storm that had ended the combat in a draw several nights prior.

Winifred was grinning when Laurent appeared next to her, his expression clearly sour behind his balaclava. "I see you could not be bozhered to wait for me, Winifred."

The Soldier chuckled, grin wild. "Word from on high, Frenchie. Sorry. You should've been a little quicker."

"Word from on high indeed..." Laurent grumbled, though he was smarter than to question an order from the Announcer. If the Control Point was enabled, they had no choice but to move. "Keep an eye out for zheir Pyro. She used to be a mercenary." He was all at once glad for the files the previous Spy had never gotten a chance to reveal. He had gone over them in great detail, and as he had spent most of his time curled up with the Sniper, it gave him some information to share to make up for his lack of going around investigating like he was supposed to. "Zheir Demoman usually just zhrows explosives randomly. Zheir Heavy and Medic are actually your biggest zhreat. Zhe Spy and zhe Sniper are bozh very dangerous... and zhey are mine."

Rolling her eyes, Winifred shouldered her rocket launcher. "Dunno what it is with you Spies and Snipers, but... okay. If you can find the son of a bitch and get to 'im without your head getting' popped off, he's all yours." She smirked. "Can't make any promises about the Spy, though. Frank wants a shot at him if he shows his ugly mug." Without waiting for the Spy's response, she looked over her free shoulder at her team before turning around with a grin. "Well. Today's a good day. We are gonna give RED team hell and we are gonna take that last control point now or die trying!" She thrust her fist into the air, grinning at the cheers of her team. She began addressing them individually, turning first to the small Pyro who was adjusting her flamethrower. "Lillie, you're in charge of finding that Spy! Hans, Mariya, you deal with their Heavy and Medic. Spook here's after their Sniper. Rest of us? We keep the heat off Mat while he takes the point. This only changes if things go south or in the case it really must, and I trust you all to think on your feet." She grinned, looking somewhere between insane and giddy. "Charge!"

As the rest of the team immediately rushed ahead, Laurent hung back, watching Frank slink off to his most recent perch. He'd at least bought Bailey some time, however brief. Now he just needed to figure out what to do next.

His hand pressed to the cigarette case in his breast pocket. A disguise kit could get him close, but he didn't want to play that hand until absolutely necessary. He still had his watch, and if push came to shove, Dead Ringer. It was just a matter of figuring out how this would play out. He couldn't believe he was considering this at all. To tip off RED, betray his own team... but he didn't want this life anymore, did he?

Steeling his resolve, the Spy made his way out of BLU territory, his whole frame gearing up. He would have to take out a few sentries, he realized... and he would have to be very, very careful. This was an active push. RED would be watching for anyone undermining their efforts. His pale eyes narrowed. So what if BLU got the intel in the end? Didn't that just mean they could all go home peacefully? He could find a nice place with Bailey, just the two of them...

His pleasant thought process was interrupted rather abruptly by someone slamming into him from behind, pinning him hard against the cold concrete wall. He felt his head bounce against the solid concrete, and for a moment he saw stars, nausea gripping his stomach. A thousand questions ran through his rattled mind, but one stood out: why hadn't his assailant killed him?

He shifted uncomfortably, shivering as he tried to shake off the daze, as the lithe frame behind him moved to pin his hands behind his back. The other's breath was hot on his ear through the fabric of his balaclava. "Surprise," the voice hissed into his ear. "Did you miss me?"

Laurent froze. The RED Spy. "'ow did you...?"

"Find you? I am just zhat good. Mm... cinnamon?" The grin was audible in the RED Spy's voice as he brought up his free hand to pull off the smaller man's mask. "My, but that brings back memories..."

What was he talking about? Laurent squirmed uncomfortably against the larger man. Why wasn't he ending it now?

All at once, he froze. The RED Spy's hand was at his hip, fingers digging in almost painfully. It was an unpleasant feeling, unwelcome, and... and somehow hauntingly, frighteningly familiar. "Get your filzhy 'ands off me...!"

"And let go of such a lovely prize?" purred the older man, drawing forward just far enough that Laurent could see his face. "I 'ad almost forgotten 'ow pretty you are."

That tone almost immediately sent chills rushing up his spine. So low, quiet, and careful. The way the fingers held tight to his hip... the feel of the lean, toned body pressed against his back. It couldn't be possible, and yet he knew it could be no one else. "Mon Dieu... you are... but... 'ow? You are zhe RED Spy!"

Tristan just chuckled, releasing his grip on Laurent's hip in order to trace his fingers slowly up his side and to his throat. "Zhe 'ow is not important, my dear student... but it 'as been far too long, non? I zhink it is time you and I... 'ad a little chat."

* * *

The mood at the RED base was considerably more tense than it had been at BLU. Despite gearing up and getting ready to fight to defend the point, most of them had moved what belongings they could to the train stop with the exception of Bailey, who had every intention of following in his camper if need be. If push came to shove and they somehow lost the point, they knew they would have to be ready to fall back to the intel team's level. Not that anyone wanted to consider failure an option.

Avery was already hard at work, putting up a dispenser and preparing her tools to put up the required sentries. Perry remained silent, going over battle strategies, pouring over maps and various plans and requirements. He was just as aware as any of his teammates that this was a make or break situation. They had to hold this point if they wanted to keep the pressure off their teammates further up the field.

As Idelia was charging up her Medigun, Bailey was stopping in to grab some health kits. He did his best to avoid the rather pointed look she was giving him. It wasn't like it was her business where he got his rocks off or with who... though the more he thought about it, the more it occurred to him that in this case, it kind of was. He was involved with the enemy Spy. And worse? He had fallen in love with the man. For all his vices and the natural distrust of their teams and professions, Laurent was a sweet young man, affectionate, funny, and engaging. He was handsome, too... or perhaps more on the genuinely pretty side.

The woman was still watching him when he turned around, though she turned away when he looked at her straight on. He almost wished he knew what that crazy woman was thinking, but...

"There is Sniper!" And there was the reason he would never dare ask. Artyom cut an imposing enough figure when dressed down, but in his full gear, hefting the minigun on his shoulder like it didn't weigh a thing, he was very near terrifying. "Is good day to fight, da? Clear and cool! You get good shot from tower." He winked, a grin splitting the features of his square face. "That is, if I do not send BLU babies running home to mama before fight can start. Hah!"

Bailey gave a chuckle that he prayed didn't sound nervous. "Well, make sure ya save some fer us, Arty. I'd like ta pop a couple 'fore you an' the doc scare 'em off."

Slowly, Artyom nodded, though there was a clear note of pride in his voice as he glanced over toward the lady Medic. "Da, da... is true, is true. My Ideshenka is scary to BLU. She is good warrior. Strong! This is why she is admired by me. Ideshenka fears no one!"

The Sniper heard the Medic chuckle, and he briefly mused that at least someone found the humor in Artyom's admiring of Idelia's skills in evisceration, even if it was the woman herself. "Well maybe she'll get another go at it today. Always good ta get some tension out, right?"

Idelia was smiling now, giving Bailey a venomous look over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, ja. Und perhaps you can see about hitting zhe Spy today. A few good loads from behind should do zhe trick..."

Bailey felt a muscle in his jaw start to twitch, but he couldn't really say anything, could he? Artyom was nodding in vigorous agreement with his lover, not really knowing exactly what the petite Medic was referring to. "Yeah. S'pose I could. Depends on whether I see 'im or not, though, don't it?"

"My dear Sniper," Idelia purred, reaching up to pull her long hair into a tidy bun at the back of her head, "I know how you vork. A Sniper vill always find a Spy. Every time. Especially you."

This time, Bailey didn't rise to the bait. He pretended not to hear her, grabbing a couple of extra health kits before rushing back toward his position.

"Control point enabled!" came the familiar, disembodied female voice. "Move!"

A knot tightened in the pit of Bailey's stomach. He had a bad feeling about all of this... a sinking feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his instincts had never steered him wrong before. Scowling, he scaled the ladder leading up to the nest, for the moment ignoring Sydney's barking from inside his van. He could already hear the sounds of combat, most likely the Scouts and Soldiers, possibly the Pyros. They would be met soon enough by the Demomen and the Engineers, with the Heavies and Medics bringing up the rear. The Snipers would do their jobs... and so would the Spies.

That thought soured his mood even further. He would be expected to take out the Spy if he spotted him, but he wasn't going to be able to shoot Laurent and he knew it. He had to come up with a plan and he had to come up with it soon. He didn't have much time at all.

* * *

Laurent felt frozen. Memories still far too vivid danced through his head, images of a tall man in blue pinning him to a wall, murmuring in that damned purr in his ear, mockingly reassuring him that he would enjoy what was coming. That he would learn to enjoy it.

He had never actually seen his full face. He had only heard him... felt him. Seen those dark, empty blue eyes. The man had taught him how to be a Spy; he had been the one to take what little innocence Laurent had to hold onto. That Spy, the man who had haunted Laurent's nightmares for nearly ten years, had never openly revealed himself until now. It was Tristan. How had he not recognized it before?

"I never zhought you would make it zhis far, you know," the older man was commenting. "Imagine... you, so afraid of taking a life! Now 'ere, right in zhe middle of zhe conflict. And fucking our Sniper." Laurent couldn't help but let out a growl low in his throat as Tristan gave a dark laugh. "'ow was 'e? Mm? I am aware 'e is quite gifted below zhe belt, so to speak. I pay attention."

Laurent jerked, trying to pry his arms free. "You are sick!" His efforts only caused Tristan to tighten his grip painfully to the point that Laurent swore he felt the bones in his wrists shift. "Un'and me, you depraved monster!"

But Tristan just laughed, leaning further over the younger Spy. Laurent made a pained sound, regretting it almost as soon as it was out of his mouth. "A monster, am I?" He grinned. "We are all monsters in some way, Laurent. We all 'ave our dark secrets. Did you tell 'im I was your first? 'ow you screamed... 'ow you cried for me. I 'ave fond memories of 'ow zhose tears came from your eyes..."

"I never asked for 'ow you treated me," the BLU Spy hissed in reply. "'ow are you even 'ere? I was trained by BLU! You are zhe RED Spy!"

Tristan chuckled at that. "Really. 'ave you not figured it out yet? Zhere is so much more to all of zhis madness zhan just RED and BLU. Do you really zhink zhis is just some private war? You are smarter zhan zhat, even for a silly little boy. Me? I know where my loyalties lie." His smile grew wider, long fingered hand slowly trailing down Laurent's chest and stomach, past his hips to the juncture of his thighs. The younger man tried desperately to squirm away, but Tristan kept him pinned. "No reaction at all? Tsk. I'm sure Bailey got you 'ard enough. "Per'aps I should take some time and remind you of who your better is. You are a bit old for me now, but... I am willing to make an exception, just zhis once."

It was all Laurent could do now to keep from thrashing against the restraint, but he knew better. "I know your tricks. You trained me. Once I am out of zhis, I will gut you like zhe foul beast you are!"

"I don't zhink you will, my dear boy. You don't 'ave zhe balls to stand up to me. You never did! Face it. You are just a weak, pazhetic little boy just playing at war games as 'e waits for someone else to fuck 'im like zhe little toy 'e is." Tristan grinned as Laurent shuddered in his grasp. "You see? I am still better zhan you. I still own you. You don't know all my tricks, boy... I never taught zhem all to you! I am zhe teacher, zhe superior, zhe master. You... are little more zhan a trophy."

The words struck Laurent hard, as much as he tried to shrug him off. This damnable man was just trying to get under his skin, he told himself. He would not let him!

"I am no one's trophy!" he cried. "And I am no one's toy! Your day will come, Tristan. I will end you. I refuse to live in your shadow any longer! I am my own man. I 'ave my own life! I will show you... I will show you if I 'ave to do so over your bleeding corpse!"

That was when Tristan struck. He removed his roaming hand, shooting out to grab the younger man's chin. He forced Laurent to turn his head, smirking nastily all the while. A desperate urge to turn away overtook the BLU Spy, but the RED Spy held firm. His blue eyes were hollow, devoid of feeling or emotion. Like staring into a cold, bottomless pit. "Your own life. What... wizh Bailey? Do you really zhink zhat uncivilized bushman could possibly 'ave real feelings for a sorry excuse for a 'uman like you? You are nozhing more zhan an easy lay. Once 'e is wizh zhe intel team, 'e will 'ave 'is pick of more suitable partners. Do not dwell on zhese pitiful illusions, Laurent. I can 'elp you. Just let me in again. You will never 'ave to worry about anyone, your emotions, your feelings, zhe emotions or feelings of ozhers. If you need sexual relief, fine, but you will never want for anyzhing so silly as commitment again. Just living for yourself. Won't zhat be nice...?"

He had an almost hypnotic voice, but Laurent was unfazed. He kept himself focused, forced himself to think of nothing but what he had accomplished in his life and of Bailey. He had become a very good judge of character in the past several years. The Sniper was genuine. He had to be. "You're a lying dog!" He clenched his jaw tightly. "You may 'ave zhe devil's luck, Tristan... but it will run out. I do not know what you are playing at, but mark me. You will fail."

"Such bravado," Tristan sighed, shoving the younger man's face away. "You 'ave spunk. I 'ate spunk." Scowling, he forced Laurent to his knees. "I should use our teams' distraction to properly break you, as my previous attempts clearly did not stick. Alas, I've more important zhings to worry about. In zhe meanwhile, if you want your supposed love to remain in good healzh, you will not breazhe a word of our... little chat. We will 'ave to talk again, Laurent. Adieu."

He shoved Laurent hard enough then to send the younger man sprawling, but was gone before Laurent could regain his footing.

* * *

At the front, the battle was going poorly for RED. The Announcer's voice had boomed out that the control point was being contested despite their best efforts, and Perry could be heard cursing as he ducked through a nearby shed. "Where the hell's that God-forsaken Spy?" he shouted. "We need to take down their sentries!"

Across the field, the team was already starting to fall back. The announcer was declaring that BLU had taken the point. They were fighting a losing battle at this point. They needed to get to the train.

Artyom was under heavy fire from Winifred and Lillie both. Idelia was trying to stay close, but a burst of flame from Lillie's flamethrower sent her stumbling backward. She barely had time to register she was falling before she was rolling down the incline with a startled cry. She could hear Artyom shouting for her from a distance away, but after the fall, she was too dazed to react.

"A- Arty?" she called, straightening her glasses with a trembling hand. "Bärchen, vhere are you...?"

She gave another startled shout when a large hand caught her shoulder, throwing her to the ground again. As she was scrambling to regain her footing, a shadow fell over her, cast by the BLU team Heavy, Mariya. "You are spry," the woman was saying, glaring down at the much smaller Medic, "but not smart enough to avoid hill, da?" She took a step forward as Idelia scrambled back, unable to get back to her feet in time. "Don't run, tiny Medic. Once I break your fingers, I kill you quickly."

Idelia swallowed hard. This was a far different ball game than when she had killed BLU's previous Spy. Heavies were not fast, but they could take a great deal of punishment. She needed to think fast if she wanted this to end in any other way than her remains returning to Germany in a pine box.

Her thoughts returned to the present just in time to notice a large, booted foot swinging forward, jerking back her hand. Chunks of damp earth rattled free where her hand had rested moments before, just inches from her fingertips. "I... I am harder to kill zhan you zhink, Dummkopf!" barked the small German woman. "You vill regret ever trying!"

"Hmph!" Mariya's other foot came down as Idelia backpedaled again. "Big words from such itsy bitsy woman! I will show you. You will be issue no longer."

This time, she changed her tactic. Instead of trying to stomp on the RED Medic's hands, she swung out a massive fist with the intent of dazing the Medic again. Idelia immediately panicked, hitting the dirt as she frantically groped for her backpack. Long fingers curled around the first thing she grabbed, and she pulled and swung.

Idelia's pulse roared in her ears. She was only vaguely aware of the Russian woman screaming and grasping at her leg, and somewhere in her adrenaline fueled mind, she was conscious of a spray of blood hitting her face and front, sticky and warm. The doctor in her deciphered she must have hit the femoral artery. The BLU Heavy would bleed out without the assistance of a Medigun within the next minute, but the German woman could not convince herself to care. She was the enemy. She had done this before. It was simply the way of things.

All at once, as her body started to come down from its terrified high, Idelia felt nauseated. It was, she realized, just the after-effects of the adrenaline on her body, but she was equally sickened at how she had reacted. She was not some little girl, hiding in corners. She was a mercenary! Just as capable as anyone here!

Shakily, she started to pull herself up, only to have a gloved hand take hold of her upper arm and all but drag her the rest of the way up. "On your feet, fraulein! Ve haff come vizh zhe train to assist in zhe retreat... schnell!"

The voice was too familiar, but at first, Idelia didn't look at the newly arrived Medic too closely. She was too busy checking for Artyom. When she finally caught sight of the dark-haired Russian, he was shoulder to shoulder with another RED Heavy, falling back. That wasn't the only double, either. Two Pyros were holding back BLU's advance, and she spotted a tall, lean Sniper on top of one of the buildings, providing precise cover fire.

"I don't understand..." she finally managed to mumble out. "How did you know?"

The other Medic jerked her arm hard to get her to follow, and this time, Idelia turned him a nasty glare. She went slack-jawed when she got a look, but the older man was already talking, not looking at her. "Ve saw zhe zhings piled on zhe train. Is zhat not obvious? You vould zhink a Medic vould be more-" He trailed off when he turned his head, staring down at the small woman. "...Idelia?"

"Mein Gott." Idelia's eyes were wide behind her glasses. "Viktor. I..."

"Hey!" The two Germans turned their heads in sync, just in time to see Cat dart by, a taller Scout with long, sandy hair trailing after her. She was the speaker. "You two can flirt latah, Vikky! We gotta get t'the train! Hustle!"

Viktor scowled at the passing Scouts, but there was no denying they were right. He gave Idelia a measured glare. "Ve vill discuss zhis later, schwesterlein. Come."

* * *

They'd lost the point. Bailey felt the anger rising in his chest at this prospect, but there wasn't really much he could do outside of providing cover fire for his team to fall back to the train. He could hear footsteps coming up the ladder and swung around, finger on the trigger and ready to meet the approaching threat.

"Mon loup, it's me!" came a frantic voice, and in the next moment, Laurent faded into view. He looked almost frightened, though it clearly was not of Bailey. Something had spooked him, and badly. "You need to get out of 'ere. Zhe point is ours, and... if you don't go now, zhey might..."

He was cut off by Bailey's large hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly. "I'll head out in a minute. You look pale. Well... paler'n normal. What's wrong? You hurt?"

Laurent shook his head, slipping out of the Australian's grip as the Sniper sat down his rifle. "I am fine. Just... get out of 'ere. Please."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong!" Bailey returned. "Yer actin' like I'll gut ya if I keep a hand on ya! What th'hell's gotten inta you, Spooky?" He reached forward as Laurent tried to withdraw, grabbing the narrow shoulders tightly. "D'ya need a Medic? I've go' health kits... y'ain't bleedin'..."

The stress of the earlier confrontation threatened to boil over, and Laurent had to choke back the urge to tell the bigger man everything. He had already put him in enough danger, and what if Tristan had been right? What if all he was to the Sniper was an easy lay?

Bailey had him drawn close now, hands poking and prodding along his back and sides. Laurent squirmed. "What on earzh are you doing?"

"Checkin' you fer holes! Is it so damn hard fer you t'believe that someone'd care enough about you not t'want your scrawny arse dead?" Once satisfied that Laurent had no new, unwelcome orifices on his person, he drew the Spy close again, grip tight. "Ya just shook me up a bit, Spooky. Ya shouldn't be here either, if I gotta fall back..."

Laurent tensed, but only briefly. If Tristan had been right and Bailey was only interested in him for sex, would he be so worried about the Spy's well being? Was he just... caring for a toy? His hands tightened and he squeezed shut his pale blue eyes. "Before eizher of us does anyzhing... goes anywhere. I must know, Bailey. What are your feeligns toward me?"

The Sniper was caught off-guard, his grip slacking. "I don't know why that's important right now, Laurent-"

"Please, Bailey!" Laurent cut him off this time, jerking his head up. "Just... please. I need to know. I need to 'ear you say it."

There was a thick moment of silence before Bailey frowned, leaning down to catch the smaller man in a deep kiss, strong arms pulling him closer. When he drew back, he kept their faces close. "I know we ain't known each other long, Spooky, but... I think you'n me got somethin' deeper goin' on. Don't know what it is. Damn well may be love. What's got you so worked up 'bout this-"

He was interrupted a second time, but this time it was by Laurent's lips covering his, nearly desperate in his fervor. When he drew back, his eyes were glossy. "Merci beaucoup, mon loup." He smiled. "I will tell you more when we 'ave more time. You need to move. I will find you at your new base, I promise."

Bailey arched his brow. "An explanation on all this is an understatement, Spooky." He was packing up his rifle and the health kits as he spoke. "Yer actin' strange."

The Spy gave a shrug, though it was awkward and uneasy. "Nerves is all, mon loup. Nozhing more." He took a step back, fiddling with his watch. "Please take care, Bailey."

He was gone a moment later. Bailey frowned as he grabbed what he could to carry down to the van. Laurent wasn't acting like himself at all, and he had been around the Spy just long enough to pick up on his habits. He was jittery when nervous... stand-offish and unsocial. Charming and a tease when happy, affectionate when content, cold as ice when angry. No, the Spy was not behaving normally at all.

It was all he could do to keep Sydney quiet as he started up the camper to head for the train. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this whole situation felt wrong. He gritted his teeth, trying so hard to focus. He needed to get out of here anyway, or he'd never live to figure it out.

* * *

They called it the shack, and that really was a fairly accurate assessment. While the intel team had done their best to get things ready before helping their teammates bug out, it was still cramped for space. As the Soldiers departed the train ahead of everyone else, already deep in planning, two Medics argued heatedly in German, trading angry barbs far too sharply for a pair that had, as far as anyone else could tell, just met.

Tristan had been the last on the train, looking as though he'd just had a run through a live minefield. While otherwise uninjured, his usually immaculate suit was torn and ripped, burned in some places, wrinkled and dirty in others. He had been all but dragging the tall, lanky Sniper behind him, and the young man – a stab would plain in his thigh – grunted his thanks before sitting heavily next to a small framed Pyro with red-brown hair and big green eyes. Now that they were exiting the train, she was doing her best to help him walk, despite an obvious difference in height. Bailey stood waiting for them.

"Bloody 'ell... Flynn?" The gangly man lifted his head, blinking at the burly Australian who was just barely taller than him, if at all. By now, the long-haired Scout and Cat had joined the tiny Pyro and the skinny Sniper. "What the hell happened t'you?"

The little Pyro gave a weary smile as her companion stumbled, caught by the other Sniper. "Michel followed us. He does that sometimes."

As Bailey frowned, bracing Flynn against his shoulder, Cat eyed them suspiciously. "So... how d'you two know each other?"

"They're brothahs," the long-haired Scout chimed in. "I knew Bailey back b'foah I got moved up ta intel. Long time no see, big guy!"

Bailey gave a weak, somewhat awkward smile at that. "Good t'see you too, Jenny. Yer lookin' good. Bit skinny."

The older of the two Scouts sniffed a bit, folding her arms with a clear air of indignance. "Nah, ya just ain't seen me in a while s'all. Why didn't ya tell me ya brothah's a mute? I ain't nevah heard 'im say moah'n three words in a row."

"Says you!" huffed the little Pyro. "Flynn's plenty talkative! Anyhow... I'm Molly. Bailey, right? Flynn's told me a lot about you."

It was all Bailey could do to force a convincing chuckle. "Surprised he said anythin' at all." As Jenny gave Molly a smug smile, Cat finally excused herself to check on Tristan. The older Sniper just started to walk, mindful of his younger brother's injuries, heading to find the Medics. "Holdin' out, Flynn?"

Flynn nodded faintly, limp pronounced. He was lucky he hadn't bled out. "Got lucky. You good?"

After a few more steps, and some consideration into the state of things, Bailey nodded. "Yeah. Been kinda rough. Good t'see you, though. I was getting' worried when y'hadn't sent a letter."

"Been swamped. Lotta things. Lotta loss. Rough time." It was such a relief to hear his brother talk, no matter how mumbled and clipped his sentences were. For all the stress and the unorthodox circumstances, being with family was a blessed relief. Flynn, just judging from body language, seemed to be relatively relaxed himself. "...glad you're here."

Bailey blinked, then finally gave his first genuine smile since the bug-out "Glad t'be here, joey. C'mon... let's get ya all patched up."

* * *

The move to the BLU intel team's base was considerably more rowdy than RED's move. Despite the victory over RED team, the loss of Mariya still stung. It had Winifred in a flying fit of rage, storming through their new territory like a woman possessed. She'd already spent a good ten minutes ripping into Hans over it, despite the fact that he had been distracted helping Matt. Not that he could have done much to help her. She was bleeding out before they were aware, and getting to her would've been difficult under the best of conditions.

Laurent, on the other hand, was drawn thin. He had been praised for his efforts, however little he had actually done, but Tristan's words continued to ring in his ears. It made him feel sick to his stomach. He almost didn't see the taller figure in a blue, asbestos-lined, fire-retardant suit approaching him. The sandy-haired young man, with his freckle-dotted face, stopped just in front of him. "Hello? Bonjour? Etes-vous bien?"

"Eh? Oh! Oh, je suis desole... I did not see you zhere- are you speaking French?" Laurent was genuinely surprised at that, drawn out of his thoughts by that fact alone. "I 'ave met very few French speakers zhat are not Spies, and you are a Pyro..."

The Pyro grinned. "It's my first language, actually. Fluent in English, though. You're the new Spy, right? The one that came with the point team?" He offered a hand. "Blaise Lefevre. Welcome to the madhouse."

Laurent did his best to force a smile, though he had a feeling the smiling man could see right through it. "Mad'ouse, is it? Sounds like a good time. It is a pleasure to meet you, Blaise." He took the offered hand firmly, hoping that would distract the Pyro from his new teammate's spooked behavior. "Laurent Veilleux."

"Nice to meet you too, Laurent. Oh, one moment..." Blaise turned away only briefly as a tall, broad-shouldered man in the garb of a Spy started past them, looking a little bit singed. "Hey, Michel! Another go at it? How close did you get?"

The man turned slightly, then gave an almost lazy grin. "Stabbed zhe son of a bitch Sniper in zhe leg zhis time. Molly was zhere... ah, such a fiery woman! I shall persevere! Faint 'eart never won fair lady!"

The younger Spy rocked back on his heels, doing his level best not to look worried that a Sniper had been stabbed. It couldn't have been Bailey, he rationalized. The other Spy seemed to clearly have a goal of his own in mind, involving the unfamiliar name Molly. And hadn't Bailey mentioned his younger brother was RED intel's Sniper?

As Michel headed off on his own, Laurent and Blaise looked back at one another, but Laurent spoke first. "Molly...?"

"Oh yeah," replied Blaise with a laugh. "Michel's had a thing for RED's Pyro Molly since he saw her out of all that gear. Thinks he can win her heart by besting her lover in combat. At this point? It's more of a game than anything. C'mon... I'll show you where you'll be bunked."

The two walked in silence after that, introducing people as he went. Laurent politely nodded and acknowledged each introduction, though for the most part, he was filing away names and faces, dedicating them to memory for future reference. Blaise was a cheerful, talkative young man, very animated and lively. He was even courteous enough to speak in French to his guest; as off as it seemed, being Quebecois French, it was still understandable and much more familiar to the Spy than English tended to be. He did his best to be attentive, but his mind was drifting elsewhere. What Tristan had said, before rattling his confidence about Bailey... what had he meant about knowing where his loyalties lie? Being smart enough to realize... what?

What was it about this conflict? What did Tristan know that he didn't?

He would have continued on that train of thought, but Blaise had stopped and was giving him a funny look. It was then Laurent realized he had zoned out, and his expression turned apologetic. "I am so sorry, Blaise! I 'ave a lot on my mind..."

"Say no more," Blaise soothed, putting up his hands. "You lost a teammate today. That's rough. Believe me, I know. I'll leave you alone. Come find me later and I'll give you the nickel tour."

Laurent didn't have the heart to tell him it was not Mariya's death that was bothering him. Something was very wrong with this whole situation, and he couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned as he walked into the room. He would have to get his things later, but right now, he had to focus. There was a way to figure this out, but it was risky. If Tristan's implication meant what Laurent had a feeling it did, there had to be a clue somewhere...

He stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. Of course! The intelligence! He had to find it. It was safe in this base. He didn't need RED's, after all. He just needed to determine what they had that was so worth dying for.

As he turned to slip out, he was a little surprised to find Michel standing there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "_Hello there, new roommate,_" he chuckled with a lazy smile. "_Laurent, yes? Michel Davignon. Good to meet you. You look very young. Too young to be in the business of killing people, but who am I to judge?_" He laughed lightly, reaching into the pocket of his slacks for a light. "_You look as though you're up to something. But don't we all?_"

Laurent swallowed. "_I... was going to see where the intelligence is kept. I cannot help protect it if I don't know where it is..._"

"_Oh, I can show you that._" The older man took a moment to throw his suit jacket, previously slung over his shoulder, onto his bed. "_Not that it does that much good. I took a peek once._"

The younger Spy arched his brow as he fell into step with the taller man. "_Why do you say it doesn't do much good knowing...?_"

Michel shrugged absently. "_Nothing worth protecting actually in it. They're duty rosters... maybe a few years old. No tactical use to anyone. I think that old dog Francois knew too, before he ran off. He was RED's old Spy. A bit of a nudge, but a good Spy._" He smirked, rolling his shoulders. "_He married our old Scout's mother, Barbara. I have pictures from the wedding._"

That actually gave Laurent pause, and he stared at Michel for a moment. "_Wait. RED's old Spy sent you pictures from his wedding? That's... a bit unorthodox, don't you think?_"

"_You would have to be used to how things work here. Many of us have been here for a long time. We're tired of fighting._" They were movnig down a long hallway now, following large signs. Michel lifted his hand, removing the cigarette from his lips to breathe out a thin stream of smoke. It smelled sweet... clove, perhaps. "_I, for one, have plans beyond this place. And who knows? Perhaps we'll finally be able to finish it here._"

He stopped in front of a heavy steel door, pushing it open without a word. Laurent took a brief look around, assessing the situation around him. It was mostly an empty room, with some tall file cabinets along one wall, a cigarette dispenser near the door (convenient, he mused), and a long desk with an old wooden chair. On the desk sat a blue briefcase holding the closely guarded intelligence. "_...that's it?_"

Michel nodded. "_That's it. Go ahead and have a look._"

The younger Spy drew in a deep breath. Well... this was what he came back here for, right? Nodding to Michel, he slipped inside and headed over to the briefcase.

* * *

"I don't like my plans falling apart, Mr. Malveaux. That's why I placed you where you are." Despite the tone of the voice speaking to him, Tristan felt surprisingly calm. "It would take more money than I really care to admit to erase all of this for this run, and besides, we've got a good group this time. It'd be a shame to have to destroy all this because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

Tristan gave an idle shrug, kicking back at the desk next to RED's intelligence. "I 'ave it well in 'and. I assure you, zhe situation wizh Monsieur Veilleux and Monsieur Ryan will be 'andled soon. And, once my plan is complete, nozhing will 'ave changed at all. Zhings will return to zhe status quo."

There was a sour sound from the female voice. "It had better be. I expect those two to be trying to kill each other by the end of the week. No more of this "hide the Sniper's arrow" nonsense."

A smile spread across Tristan's long face as he listened, bringing a cigarette to his lips. "Do not worry, Madame Administrator. Everyzhing is under control..."


	7. Chapter 7

((Author's note: another one. If it's in Italics, it's the Spies talking in French. Carry on!))

* * *

Getting used to new teammates always tended to be something of a trial-and-error situation. In some ways, Jenny felt she had something of a leg up on that, along with Rob, having spent some time with the point team prior to their move to intel. She was happy to see Bailey again, at least, though not as much as she was sure Flynn was. What bothered her was how little she realized she knew about point's Spy. She knew she had seen him before, but he had come off as aloof and snobbish, so she had never really spoken to him.

Now she was getting to know her young fellow Scout, and with more about the man she was apparently involved with coming to light, the less Jenny trusted him. Cat was always more than happy to gush on about Tristan, and from the way she talked about the man, it sounded like he treated her more like a possession than a lover. It had only been a few days, and already she had an intense dislike for the man. He was a smooth talker, charismatic and clever, and those were always signs – in her mind – of someone you couldn't trust. At least she could take some comfort in the fact that after rooting out Bailey to voice her concerns, he had apparently felt very similarly about the situation.

At the moment, she was in the process of searching out Cat again. Feeling a bit more confident in her assessment, she had certain things she wanted to discuss with the young Scout. Perhaps if she had been more attentive, she would have noticed something off about the empty hallway, but then, Tristan Malveaux was very good at his job. He did not like this. People needed to keep their noses in their own business, and this Scout could ruin a very carefully crafted plan. Not that he cared what happened to any of these worthless pawns in the end, but a seed of distrust could very quickly grow out of control, and for his plan to work, he needed to make sure his connections were as solid as possible.

Cloaked and silent, he followed Jenny until she reached the mess, finding a suitable spot where he could safely uncloak without being seen while still being in earshot. The older Scout had been quick to seek out Cat, sitting beside her. Tristan settled in to listen.

In Jenny's favor, Cat – still very young – had taken to the older woman rather quickly, seeing her as a friend and the sister she never had. And while she didn't necessarily want to abuse or take advantage of Cat's admiration, it was her best chance to get through to the girl. She wanted to, besides. Cat was a sweet girl, and Jenny could not shake the feeling that she was in danger.

"Hey, Jenny!" the younger girl greeted cheerily. "Thought you were goin' out t'bother Bailey. Not that I mind the company or anything." She grinned, twirling her fork in what was either creamed corn or macaroni and cheese. "What's up?"

The older Scout tensed briefly. How exactly was she supposed to word this? She didn't want to push Cat away, but at the same time, this was a conversation that needed to happen. "I was hopin' t'talk ta ya 'bout Tristan."

Cat's expression soured, which was not unexpected. She picked up her glass, looking away. "I don't know why everybody's on about this! First Bailey, then Idelia, now you? He treats me real good. Why's that such a bad thing?"

"Because he's almost 40 and you're 18, sweetie. Doesn't that strike ya as a little odd?" Cat did not respond to Jenny's inquiry, instead frowning and looking away. Jenny took the opportunity to press on. "I know it's nice, havin' someone treat ya real good, but he's twice ya age! Ya got a whole life ahead of ya. Ya got a world ta see. Ya can't let yaself get tied down. Does he evah do anythin' with ya othah'n sleep with ya?" Cat shook her head slightly and Jenny sighed, reaching up to rub the younger girl's shoulder. "He's interested in somethin' othah'n ya personality, hon. Ya need ta move on. On ya own, ya know? It'll be betta fo' ya in the end."

The younger Scout fidgeted for several moments. It looked as though the words got through, and she finally lifted her head. She honestly looked about ready to cry. "Do... do ya really think he's usin' me...?"

Startled, Jenny sat back a bit. "I... wouldn't say usin' ya, really. But I don't think his intentions are all that pure..."

Listening to the two women talk, Tristan resisted the urge to snort. So this was the big deal? Hardly worth his concern, but still. Having anyone undermining his efforts at all was problematic anyway, so he would still need to tread carefully to mend the damage. Cat was a large part of his plan, and he still needed her trusting him. Making a thoughtful sound, he eyed Jenny as she continued to speak, then smiled.

Yes.

That would work nicely.

* * *

Junk.

The briefcase was full of trivial, worthless junk. The duty rosters were at least a few years old, and other papers were recruitment fliers and paraphernalia.

Michel was watching with an expression of mild interest, and when Laurent's expression changed, he pushed up from where he had been leaning against he doorframe. "_See what I mean? Useless. I don't know why we're fighting for it._"

"_Then... why stay?_" Laurent was well aware of how confused he must sound. "_Why keep fighting? Why die for... for all this worthless nothing?_"

The other Spy made a soft sound before shrugging. "_The pay is good. Many here lack further applicable skills, and even in our home countries, we're outcasts. Some of us need the money. Others don't know that we're- how does that English phrase go? Chasing wild geese? Whatever the reason... we're still here. But... I'm as tired of this as anyone. You look like you have a plan...?_"

Laurent furrowed his brow. "_I may. I have to talk to some people._"

Slowly, Michel started to smile. "_That rugged Sniper from the RED point team?_" When Laurent's ears went red, the older man laughed. "_Everyone's dirty laundry is a Spy's business, young man. You'll learn that yourself, if we're here long enough. I travel back and forzh sometimes... and I learned of your liaison by way of very careful observation. Now, don't give me that look... your secret is safe with me. You're not the only one sowing your oats beyond our colors. Tell you what... you seem a clever young man. I'll play my cards on you. If you need any help at all... just ask me. We'll see what a bright young mind and a seasoned old warhorse can do._"

With a wink, the older Spy slipped out of view. Laurent stood very still in contrast, just staring at the papers in his hands. Unfamiliar names, employees of both BLU and RED, covered the paper and made him want to cringe. Names from five, ten years ago. People who weren't even here anymore... many were very likely dead.

Was this what Tristan had been talking about? This truly wasn't just some private war, was it? So what exactly was it? Were they well-paid entertainment, like sports stars or actors? Were they just testing some strange, hitherto unknown technology? Or were they remnants of an old feud that refused to die?

Whatever the reason, it set Laurent's blood to boiling. They were little better than pawns here. They couldn't just continue to exist like this, living out someone's sick fantasy until they were dead of it.

His jaw set. He knew what had to be done.

He took his time in rearranging the briefcase and placing it back on the desk. At the very least, it needed to look nice, even if the information inside was worthless.

The primary issue here was figuring out how to handle this. Michel would be very helpful, but how to use him was a conundrum. He seemed well liked among his team, so maybe he could talk to them about trying a cease-fire. There were a few people he knew wouldn't mind the resolution.

Then, of course, was the issue of RED Team. He couldn't exactly walk up and tell someone, and Tristan would certainly be ready and willing to undermine his efforts. Bailey was strictly out of the question; he refused to put the Sniper in more danger than he already had. He could talk to Cat, but she doted on RED's turncoat Spy and was unlikely to trust the enemy just because he said so. That left him one very unnerving option.

He had no choice but to approach Idelia. He shuddered a bit at the thought. It wasn't even that she was an imposing woman. She simply had presence, exuding an intimidating air that he was sure would rattle even the most stalwart of soldiers. Impressive, but a bit unnerving, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was that sharp, dangerous air which made her the perfect candidate. When she spoke, people listened.

Nodding faintly, he made up his mind. First, he would talk to Michel. Then, he had a trip to the RED base to make.

Fortunately, Michel had not gone far when he found him. The man was taking a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, the clove cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, but it tipped up a bit when he turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. "_I take it you have an idea, then?_"

"_Something like that. It's not much, but it's a start. We need to try to convince the others we've been had, and on top of that, it has to stick. You seem to be in well with your team..._" As Michel's brow arched, Laurent pressed on. "_You could talk to them._"

Thoughtfully, removed the cigarette from his lips, smoke drifting lazily from his nostrils as he breathed out. "_Well, I'd be lying if I said I'd tried before. To be honest, I just never thought it would work._"

Laurent furrowed his brow. "_We don't have much of a choice otherwise, Michel. You said yourself that you're tired of fighting... and we have a chance to end it. Maybe it's a long-shot. Maybe it's hopeless. But don't we owe it to ourselves to try? None of us really wants to die here._" He gave the older Spy an almost pleading look. "_Please, Michel. It just takes one drop to start a ripple._"

The older man watched him for a long moment, almost as if he was weighing his options. At last, though, he let that easy smile cross his face. "_I can't argue with that. Very well, young man. I will try your suggestion. Keep in touch, Laurent... and good luck._"

Laurent watched quietly as Michel headed on his way down the hall. He was playing a risky game now, but hadn't Tristan cast the first stone? To survive, he needed to play, no matter how hazy the rules really were. He nodded, then started weaving back to his room. He had planning to do.

* * *

Cat did not like thinking that the new Scout could be right. It wasn't as though she knew Jenny nearly as well as she knew the Spy, but hadn't Bailey and Idelia also expressed concerns? Even Birkita and Callum kept a weather eye on the Spy. Was there something she had missed? Was she ignoring warning signs just because of her youth and her eagerness to have someone treat her like Tristan did?

She frowned, pacing as she tapped her bat lightly against her shoulder. The whole situation was entirely troubling. Leaning down, she picked up a rock, pitched it into the air, and swung her bat hard, sending the rock flying. Two more rocks were sent on a fast track toward the horizon, distracting the Scout enough that she didn't notice another figure in red approaching her. "Hey, sweetie," called the familiar voice. "Got a minute?"

Blinking, Cat lifted her head to look over toward who had hailed her, surprised to find Jenny walking toward her. "Oh... uh, hey, Jenny... sup?"

"Not much other'n those rocks ya sent sailin'. Listen, Cat... I owe ya an apology." Cat gave the older woman a strange look, but Jenny kept talking. "I took th'time t'talk ta Tristan. I was way outta line. I'm a mothahly kinda gal, and I was just tryin' ta make sure ya didn't end up hurt, y'know?"

The change of tone threw Cat off a bit, and she gave Jenny a somewhat sideways look. "Kinda sudden. What made ya decide on this alluva sudden?"

Jenny just shrugged slightly, picking up a rock t'send it skipping along the dirt in front of them. "I saw how upset ya looked afta we talked and decided maybe I'd jumped the gun. So I tracked th'Spook down and sat down with 'im. Had a chat, y'know? Seems he ain't such a creep aftah all. He's really nuts about ya. Kinda makes me a little jealous!"

When Jenny gave a reassuring grin, Cat finally laughed a little, tossing up another rock to send it flying across the landscape. "Well... it's like I told ya. He's never been nothin' but good t'me, y'know? I don't think age matters anyhow. My dad's ten years older'n Ma."

"Hey, sometimes it works fa some people. An' moah powah to 'em, I say." The other Scout stretched fluidly, puffing a few strands of loose hair out of her face. "Ya still mopey?"

Cat grinned and shrugged, picking up another rock. "Nah, now I'm just havin' fun. Hey, d'ya got ya bat on ya? We can have a contest! See who can hit a rock the longest way!"

For a split second, Cat almost swore she saw Jenny's expression turn alarmed, but she brushed off the thought when the older woman just smiled easily, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't got it. I was just on my way t'grab a bite t'eat. I'll take ya up on that latah. Why doncha find that spook'a yours? He was lookin' a bit nervous. I think he figured I turned ya offa him."

The suggestion was a sound one. Cat couldn't deny that since her conversation with Jenny, she'd been avoiding the Spy like the plague. She pursed her lips, furrowing her brow before letting out a tiny sigh and nodding. "Yeah... I suppose you're right. I should probably go talk ta him..." She trailed off, then smiled at the other Scout. "Hey, Jenny? Thanks for givin' him the benefit of the doubt."

The girl was sprinting off across the complex before Jenny had a chance to respond, but the woman didn't mind. She just started in the other direction at a casual stroll, whistling to herself.

Slowly, the facade melted, smoke drifting from the frame as the disguise faded and the figure grew taller, thicker, with every step. When the hissing stopped and the smoke drifted away, a man stood where the woman had been walking. The Spy smiled, clicking open his cigarette case. "All according to plan."

* * *

The medical wing was quiet right now, the argument from earlier having finally concluded. The Fleischer siblings were not on speaking terms after that, though, and Viktor had stormed out without a final word. Idelia was silently unpacking her equipment, expression as sour as her mood. How was she to know that her older brother was here? He had only told her to stay home and take care of their ailing mother, besides, and with their mother now gone...

The woman scowled, shoving a box of syringes aside a bit harder than she had intended, but at the moment, she couldn't convince herself to care. If any of the fragile glass implements had broken, she would just borrow some from her brother. He was to blame for her foul mood anyway.

She turned around, just about to take a step to grab another box, but she stopped short with a startled squeak when a thin figure dressed in a fine blue suit materialized in front of her. She instinctively went for her bonesaw, but the slim man was a split second quicker, rushing behind her to pin her arms and clap his free hand over her mouth. "Idelia, please! I am not 'ere to fight!" His voice was quiet but urgent. "I am going to take my 'and away from your mouzh. I will trust you not to scream. Zhis is bigger zhan us. We must talk and you are zhe only one I can trust to go to wizh zhis on your team."

True to his word, Laurent quietly removed his hand. Idelia did not scream, but each word dripped with acid as she spoke to him. "Only me? Und vhat about Bailey, Herr Spy? Vould your lover not be a more appropriate conversation partner?"

"I would, but I... look, I just cannot say anyzhing to 'im, all right?" He released her completely, taking a step back as Idelia rolled her shoulders with an irritated sound. "It is about zhe intelligence."

Idelia snorted a bit, turning to face him. 'I am not going to 'and it to you, if zhat is vhat you are asking."

It took all Laurent had not to growl. Whether or not Idelia was being purposefully obnoxious, he did not have time to waste on this. "I do not want you to 'and it to me. I wanted to warn you. Zhe intelligence is junk. Worzhless. Zhere is nozhing in it zhat anyone would want. Old duty rosters for people who are dead and gone. Recruitment papers. Propaganda."

"...and vhy do you know zhis? How do you know zhis?" Idelia's tone was, understandably, skeptical. "Better... vhy tell me?"

Laurent was the one scowling now, fists clenched at his sides. "Do you really want to spend zhe rest of your life 'ere? We only leave on one of zhree conditions: our contract expires, we are maimed to permanent disability, or we are killed. Which do you zhink is zhe most common outcome?" When Idelia frowned and looked away, the young Frenchman gave a sharp nod. "If zhat is all zhat is in our intelligence, zhen it is more zhan likely zhe same for yours."

"I am assuming, zhen, zhat you had a look at your own...?" Idelia questioned, frowning deeper when Laurent nodded. "But vhy? Vhy haff us fighting over... nozhing?"

Laurent lifted his chin at that, just slightly. "Zhat, my dear lady, is a question for your Spy. Tristan knows much more zhan I am sure 'e is letting on."

That caused Idelia to arch her brow, lips pursing. "I sense some bad blood betveen you. Zhat vould not surprise me... Tristan is not zhe sort to be trusted. I trust you more zhan him, und zhat truly says somezhing..." She lifted her chin, just slightly. "Assuming you are right, vhat vould you haff me do, hm?"

"Talk to your team," responded Laurent, almost pleading. "We are being used, Idelia. We are nozhing more zhan pawns in someone's elaborate game. Zhe only way any of us gets out of 'ere alive is if we all work togezher." Idelia gave him a skeptical look and he swallowed hard, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You are a very fierce woman. Zhat much is clear. And while some of zhem fear you, zhey know to trust you. Zhey will listen to you."

The skepticism did not leave Idelia's face, but at last, she nodded her agreement. "Very vell, zhen. I vill haff a look at zhe intelligence myself. If vhat you say is true and zhe information contained vizhin zhe briefcase is useless, zhen I will bring it to zhe attention of zhe Soldiers. If it is not... I haff a vord vizh Bailey."

There was still a hint of unease in Laurent's mind. If Tristan had beaten him to the punch, this plan would fail horribly. He just had to hope he wasn't too late. "Very well. Zhank you, Idelia. I will be in touch."

"Just vatch yourself out zhere, Herr Spy," the Medic returned. "I vould hate to haff to be zhe vun to tell Bailey of your tragic, untimely deazh."

Laurent barely suppressed a shudder as he cloaked. That woman could make anything sound like a threat.

* * *

As Laurent was conversing with Idelia, very different events were transpiring not too far away. Tristan was smiling faintly to himself, casually enjoying a cigarette as beside him on the narrow cot, Cat was working on getting her breath back. He stole a glance over his shoulder, admiring the cherub face, closed eyes, and the small, smooth curves of her lithe little body. If it hadn't been for the dense musculature in her well toned legs, worked tight from months of running and jumping, anyone would have suspected the tiny Scout of being little more than a child.

A part of him almost sank into regret for what he was about to do, but it was gone just as quickly. There would always be willing little whores... and even unwilling ones, who were just as welcome. He scrubbed out his nearly finished cigarette, then went to stand up.

The movement on the bed caused Cat to finally stir, opening her bright green eyes to peer drowsily up at the Spy. "Leavin' so soon, Tristan?"

The older man gave a very faint smile at her inquiry, turning his head to look down at her fully. "Not quite yet, mon agneau," he purred, brushing a few strands of hair from her damp face. Excitement was rising in his chest at the thought of what he was about to do. Years of killing had not waned his lust for hearing the screams of a victim he had thoroughly enjoyed. "Zhere is a great deal of fun left to be had."

"Geez, Tristan... you've certainly got stamina." Cat was smiling that bright, childish grin, stretching languidly. She was so perfect like that. "Gimme a chance t'catch my breath!"

Tristan just smiled, watching her small chest rise and fall as her eyes closed. He could just do it now, of course. But a toy didn't scream unless properly played with, and a knife to the heart cut that too short. Instead he grabbed her upper arm, jerking her up so roughly that she cried out. "I am not interested in waiting, Cazherine." He smiled as he spoke, voice rolling out in a dangerous rumble from deep in his chest. Her eyes were wide now, filled with a very foreign fear. She had never seen, or heard, the Spy like this. Not toward her. "I 'ave a new game to play tonight. Such a pity it is zhe only time you get to participate."

The girl blinked a couple of times, expression contorted from the pain his grip on her arm was causing. "I..." She laughed, nervous, twisting her body to try to get him to let go. "Tristan, this isn't funny. C'mon... let go."

Another smile, darker and much more cruel, crossed his face as he stood, dragging Cat to her feet as well. She gave a startled, pain-filled yelp. The only reason she was still on her feet at all was the larger man's tight grip on her arm. "Zhis is not a joke, I am afraid. It 'as been very fun, 'as it not?"

"But... but Jenny said..."

At those words, Tristan threw back his head, nearly howling with laughter. Still with that malicious grin, he spun, flinging cat against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the wind out of her. "I suppose one might say I am a very good actor."

Cat was still gasping for air as Tristan began to dress, taking his time in the process, smoothing the expensive fabric over the smooth lines of his frame. He didn't seem to notice that Cat was shakily pulling to her feet, grabbing Jenny's bat with a trembling hand. He was straightening his tie when, at last, she rushed at him.

The Spy was a split second quicker, ducking the wild swing before slamming his fist hard into the girl's stomach. When she doubled over, he lashed out with another fierce blow, this time to her jaw. Cat went down with the second hit, clearly dazed and trying to regain her bearings. Tristan knelt, grabbing the small girl by the throat as he forced her to her feet. "Such a bad girl. I will miss zhat about you."

Tristan's eyes were bright with malice now, and his smile grew wider when Cat jumped at the sudden feel of cold metal against her stomach. "Tristan..."

"Good night, sweet Cazherine. May flights of angels sing zhee to zhy rest."

And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

The day was starting to grind on Bailey's nerves worse than it should have. Whatever had spooked Laurent had to be big; the Spy did not seem at all the sort to scare easily. It was now rattling around in his brain, but he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on what may have been the cause.

He was just about to stand when a muffled gunshot drew his attention. It sounded like it had come from within the fort. Anyone who wanted to practice often came outside and shot at cans, so why would they be firing inside?

Shouldering his rifle, he narrowed his gaze through the scope, just in time to see a figure in a fine blue suit slip out of the compound. He almost couldn't believe his eyes, but he recognized that build. It couldn't have been anyone else. But why? What was he doing in there?

Moments later, he heard a muffled scream. A couple of figures came running out within several minutes after that, and he was thankful to recognize the faces: Birkita and Callum. "Birkita!" he shouted. "What in thunder's goin' on down there?"

He watched through the scope as the Pyro lifted her head, then called back to him. "Someone shot Cat! Intel's Scout says she saw the BLU Spy runnin' from her and Cat's room... not Intel's, either! Said it had t'be point!"

Bailey felt his stomach sink almost immediately, first at the mention of Cat getting shot, then further at the insinuation of who had done it. Why the hell would Laurent shoot Cat?

"I'll keep a weather eye out!" he shouted in reply. "Good huntin'!"

He gripped his rifle a little tighter as the pair headed off. He didn't want to believe it. This seemed so out of character for Laurent. Not just the situation, either, but how visible the Spy had been leaving the base. It was as if he wanted to be seen.

Someone was coming up the ladder now. He could hear the click of shoes against the rungs. Quickly, he put down the rifle in favor of his kukri. He wanted to be ready for whoever came through that hatch.

At first, the footsteps that fell on the nest's wooden floor were not accompanied by a body. Then, a moment later, the cloak fell and revealed Laurent, looking bewildered and almost frightened. "I know what you are zhinking, mon loup, but you must believe me when I tell you I did not do it. I 'eard zhem shouting... it was not me!"

God, Bailey wanted nothing more than to believe him. Cat had dutifully kept their secret, despite obvious convictions otherwise, and if nothing else, they owed her. "I wanna believe ya, Spooky. But... I saw you leavin' th'base, right a few minutes back..."

"I swear zhat was not me!" Laurent looked genuinely alarmed now. "I was across zhe complex until a few minutes ago, speaking wizh Idelia..." He trailed off. "...Tristan."

Bailey blinked, narrowing his eyes. 'Tristan? What's that snake got t'do with all this mess?"

Laurent's head snapped back toward the Sniper. "Zhis is Tristan's doing; I know it. 'e is playing 'is 'and... Bailey, amour de ma vie, I know zhis seems like I am doing little more zhan confirming my guilt, but you must believe me! Zhis is Tristan's doing! 'e is trying to create animosity... keep zhe teams from seeing zhe truzh."

"Laurent, y'ain't talkin' sense. What's all this 'bout Tristan? Last I checked, th'bloke's RED. Don't reckon he's in th' business'a cappin' his own team," Bailey murmured, keeping a cautious eye trained on the anxious Frenchman.

Turning toward his lover, Laurent spoke in a low tone, pale eyes dark and haunted. "Believe me, Bailey. You do not know 'im like I do."

Bailey frowned at that, moving forward to reach out to the younger man. "I would if ya'd explain all this nonsense t'me, Spooky!"

"I... I can't, Bailey. I'm so sorry." The Spy's expression shifted to one of pained regret, never once breaking his gaze at the Sniper. "I promise, once zhis is over, I will explain everyzhing, but until zhen..." He swallowed hard. "I don't 'ave much time. Talk to Idelia. She will tell you what you need to know. In zhe meanwhile, I must find Tristan before it is too late."

He slipped forward quietly, pressing a kiss to his Sniper's lips, their bodies just barely touching before the Spy pulled back and vanished. Bailey gave a low curse. Damn if he didn't love that Spy, but he could be downright infuriating. He was briefly glad Flynn was recovering with Intel's Pyro Molly as he put up his rifle and started for the ladder. First he needed to check on his brother and make sure his dog was fed and watered, in case this turned into a stand-off. Then he needed to talk Idelia. Perhaps she could clear up some of this haze.

* * *

After getting Cat stabilized and ensuring Viktor was watching over her, Idelia had immediately headed for the room where the briefcase was kept, following signs on the walls. Part of her couldn't believe she was actually doing this. What reason did she have to believe the Spy? But then, what reason did the Spy have to deceive her? He wanted to keep Bailey safe, so ending the conflict as quickly as possible was his best option. He couldn't touch the intelligence without someone on RED knowing, so sending someone from RED was the most feasible option.

The real question was why he couldn't go to Bailey. The Sniper was much more discreet than she was. He was hiding something.

She had investigated as he asked, and found – just as he had said – that the intelligence was as worthless as a broken syringe. The only place she could think to go with this new information was to Rob and Perry, who looked utterly flabbergasted at this new revelation. They agreed to consider a new course of action as Idelia let herself out.

Now she was sitting quietly next to Cat's bed, watching in silence as the young Scout slept. She was stable, but the question was now who had done it. She'd heard the others insisting they had seen BLU point's Spy leaving the scene, but she knew that wasn't possible. Not that she could tell anyone that. From the way the thin Frenchman had spoken... could it have been Tristan?

She frowned, but before she could consider it further, the door opened behind her, breaking her train of thought. Before she could turn, large hands pulled back her thick hair, fingers brushing the nape of her neck, sending pleasant chills down her spine. As much as she adored her Heavy, however, she couldn't allow herself to get distracted.

"Not now, Bärchen," she soothed. "I am afraid zhis vill not help me settle zhis time."

"And who said I was in any mood to wait?"

Idelia's eyes flew wide. Standing up so fast she knocked over the chair, she tore out of the hands that had drifted to her sides, brushing the curve of her breasts. When she turned, the disguise was fading to reveal Tristan standing there with a lazy grin. "Tristan! Vhat zhe hell are you playing at?"

Tristan gave her a wicked grin. "Tying up loose ends, my dear. You 'ave such very soft skin. I must admit... you are normally not my type, but I 'ave always wondered what you would look like pinned beneazh me... zhat lovely 'air all tangled and messy..."

"Ugh. Razher a toad... you are disgusting. Und in zhe same room as Cat, no less." Idelia snorted, a sick feeling starting to rise in her stomach. "Get out."

The Spy, however, did not move to leave, instead striding toward her as the Medic instinctively backed away. "Cat is inconsequential. I told you, Idelia... I am tying up loose ends. You 'ave been a troublesome woman. Zhat ends now."

As his words sank in, Idelia began to run her various escape routes through her head. She had to keep Cat safe, of course, but she couldn't do that if she was dead. "I should haff known. Surprising, vhen a BLU Spy is less likely to put a knife in your back zhan your own teammate."

She immediately turned, trying to bolt toward the door, but Tristan was quicker. His hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her long, wavy hair. Idelia couldn't hold back the shriek as she was flung to the ground, her left wrist giving way as she tried to catch herself. A shock of pain raced through her, blinding in its ferocity, as Tristan forcibly rolled her onto her back, smiling all the while.

"So unlucky for you, my dear. I do not 'ave time to enjoy your beautiful body. I am on a strict schedule." He adjusted his gloves, giving her a sharp kick that caught her broken wrist along with her side, eliciting a choked cry. "I will 'ave to kill you quickly. Such a pity, too. I do love zhe sight of a woman's face when she's in anguish. Ah well... I do 'ave some time to make it interesting, at zhe very least."

Idelia swallowed hard against the nausea that resulted from the roaring pain in her wrist, closing her eyes as Tristan dragged her to her feet. He made certain he had hold of her left arm, sending more shocks of pain through the broken limb. "Open your eyes." When the Medic did not comply, he cracked his free hand hard across her cheek, snapping her head to the side and sending her glasses flying. "I said open your eyes!"

It took more effort than she thought to do as the Spy demanded. Pain was clouding her senses and she was mildly dazed from the hit. Her vision, blurred already without her glasses on, was swimming. "I... I vill see you dead for zhis..."

Tristan blinked, then smiled viciously. "You first, whore."

He flung her violently to the ground, delighting in the shriek of pain w hen her arm hit the floor just as sharply, rattling the broken wrist. She was fighting to keep from blacking out from the pain now, trying feebly to push away from him as he knelt, straddling her abdomen. Long-fingered hands, soft in kidskin gloves, closed around the woman's throat. He loved those choked, terrified sounds, and the feel of the slight frame writhing desperately beneath him. Watching the life drain slowly from someone was always exhilarating.

The sound of footsteps racing up the hallway, coupled with a baritone voice rich with an Australian accent calling for the German woman still struggling weakly beneath him, caught his attention within the next few moments. He growled out a curse in French, releasing Idelia quickly to stand and cloak. He ignored her feeble, desperate gasps for air, moving aside as the door burst open.

"Idelia!" Bailey called. "We need to-" He cut off abruptly when he spotted the woman on the floor. "Sweet God... Idelia!" He immediately focused on her, rushing over to kneel and lift her battered frame as gently as he could. "Idelia! Can y'hear me? God damn it... who th' bloomin' hell did this t'you?"

The woman could barely even form the words with her trembling lips, tinged just faintly with blue, but she did manage just four words, however faint.

"Tristan... it was Tristan."

* * *

It had been a long time since Bailey had been quite this furious. He had nearly yelled himself hoarse to get Viktor's attention, and had angrily braved the older Medic's frantic rage at the violence that had befallen his little sister. He had no idea what Laurent had meant about RED's shady point Spy, but something told him this had something to do with it. Scowling, he picked up the bow and quiver he only used in very special circumstances. He would put an arrow through that sorry weasel's skull one way or the other.

The Sniper's mind was filled with thoughts of vengeance when he turned, but the sudden explosive sound of a gun firing and a jolt of searing pain through his right knee quickly replaced that. A number of colorful expletives erupted from his mouth as he dropped, groping to grab his bloody, ruined knee.

"I would imagine zhat 'urts a great deal, Bailey," purred the rich voice from the hatch. "I would 'ave aimed a bit 'igher, but even I am not zhat cruel."

Bailey cringed, scowling at Tristan, eyes narrowed to slits. "Tristan, you bloody sick mongrel...!" He hissed as Tristan stretched, holstering the revolver. "Son of a bitch..."

The Frenchman clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he pulled up a crate near Bailey's feet. 'Such language. But I suspect zhat manners are not part of zhe upbringing of a filzhy bushman like you." He laughed as Bailey growled, grinning when that cut off in a shout. Tristan had dug the hell of his shoe into the shattered knee past Bailey's hands. "Disgusting. I am not sure why Laurent enjoys 'aving you take 'im. But I suppose any man works for a whore."

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Bailey barked. "Actin' like you know him so well-"

His words cut off in another howl of pain as Tristan twisted his heel into the injury again. "Oh, Bailey," he sighed dramatically. "I know 'im better zhan you zhink." Leaning down, he picked up one of the many arrows littering the floor, examining it with casual disinterest as he spoke. "I know you are away 'e 'as 'ad lovers before you, but I wager 'e did not tell you I was 'is first...?"

Those clouded dark eyes locked on the Frenchman's face at that, jaw clenched. "Wh-... what...? You're lying, you sorry-"

Tristan cut him off this time by jamming the arrow he was holding into Bailey's right hand, pinning it to the floor. As Bailey shouted in agony, Tristan just smiled. "I was. 'e was a week from being sixteen. Such a pretty zhing. Zhat lovely 'air, curls down to 'is shoulders... barely a 'air one on zhe whole rest of 'im ozher zhan zhat." He chuckled. The look on Bailey's face was a dark mix of pain and rage. "Oh, 'e fought me, of course. Zhey always do. But I always get my way in zhe end. You should 'ave seen 'im. Such a perfect mix of pain and terror as 'e stared up at me. 'e begged me to stop... zhe tears zhat rolled down zhose pale cheeks were so lovely..."

"You bastard...!" The Sniper was having trouble talking past the pain, but this time, neither Tristan digging his heel into the remains of his knee or the twist of the arrow embedded through his hand stopped him. 'You bloody raped 'im! I always knew you were a sick, twisted piece'a shit, but this really takes it!"

Tristan clicked his tongue, standing up. He sounded almost disappointed. "Hmph. You are such a plebeian, Bailey. I was going to leave you alive for a while longer... let you watch as I broke your little toy once and for all. But I see now zhat you are not going to cooperate." He drew his revolver, checking the chamber before taking aim. "I'll give 'im a "gentle" go, just for you." He smirked as Bailey scowled. "Good night... loup."

As he fired two shots, Sydney began baying from the camper van below.

* * *

A full two hours of searching later and Laurent was no closer to his goal. It seemed he was two steps behind Tristan the entire time, and it was causing him to anxiously tense up his shoulders and neck. He had gone all the way to BLU base and back, trying to ferret out RED point's Spy, all to no avail. It was upon discovering Idelia had been attacked that his breath caught in his throat. He had told Bailey to talk to her.

He could hear anxious, worried voices approaching quickly now anyway, so he cautiously slipped out of the area, heading back toward the nest as quickly as he could manage. Sydney was wailing and carrying on inside the van, and as much as he wanted to stop to see to him, Bailey was his first priority. He had to make sure the Sniper was okay.

The first thing to catch his attention after he all but flew up the ladder was the thick, oily smell of a recently fired gun. He was immediately on alert, looking around warily. The next thing to catch his eye were the thick smears and pools of blood on the floor. Oh god.

"Bailey?" He was nearly trembling now. This couldn't be happening. "Bailey, are you 'ere...?"

He looked around. No sign of the Sniper... but there was writing on the wall. Writing he did not want to see, and yet, he could not tear his eyes away.

Boldly written in large, neat letters, using the very blood that had most likely spilled from the one person he hoped so desperately to save, were two words in French.

Je gagne.

I win.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note: **If it's in italics down in the story itself... it's in French! Also, stay tuned at the end of the chapter for a special announcement...  
_

* * *

If someone had suggested at any point before that they were fighting a pointless battle, Winifred might not have believed him. There was a definite thrill in combat, but she had always felt that they were doing the 'right" thing, stopping the REDs from messing with BLU's business. Had she not been taken directly to the room to see the contents of the briefcase herself, she would've laughed in the older Spy's face, called him a coward, and probably would have hit him.

But standing there in the room, seeing the briefcase open and the papers spread out on the desk, put the conflict in a whole new light. She and BLU Intel's Soldier, Chester, stood shoulder to shoulder, looking through the information in front of them in varying degrees of anger and disbelief. Michel stood quietly aside, working down a clove cigarette as he waited for the two Soldiers to come to their conclusions.

It was an infuriating thought, not being in control of her own life. Winifred Dolores Smith did not like being used.

"Insanity," she growled, shoving a handful of fliers away. "What's the meaning of all this? Why in the world would we be bothering with this?"

Her compatriot scoffed, thumbing through another stack. He was an old Cavalryman, former commander of his unit, and seemed just as unnerved at being someone's unwitting pawn as she was. "Seems obvious to me. The folks upstairs are usin' us as pawns in some kinda twisted game of chess. Well... pig feathers. I'm not having any of it. Winifred?"

The woman did not respond right away. There were levels here, and she wasn't entirely sure what the best course of action could be yet. "This is... tricky. Clearly none of us wants to fight and die when the reason isn't clear. I'm sure those crazy REDs feel the same, and if our intel looks like this, it only stands to reason that theirs would too." She clenched her jaw, clearly troubled. "I don't want to sit on this too long, but I need some air."

"Understandable," Chester responded with a short nod. "I'll discuss our options with Michel and we'll have a powwow about it when you're ready."

Winifred did not wait for any further response or a dismissal from the two men. She just picked up her helmet and headed outside, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. She used to relish these brief forays outdoors, taking in the sun and plotting the next move, but right now? It was boiling her right to her core. None of this made any sense.

She had intended to just walk around the compound and work off some steam in an attempt to come to terms with a possible cease-fire. It wasn't as though she would mind the peace, however brief, but what about after that? What could they do with the truth glaring through so harshly? Making a grumpy sound, she turned on her heel and headed toward the engineers' workshop, where Milo had been spending most of his time. If nothing else, the brainy Engineer could help her talk through this and come to a reasonable conclusion.

As she was approaching the small building, detached from the main complex for safety reasons, she became all too aware that the area was altogether too quiet. Her eyes narrowed as she moved closer. Normally the shed was home to a cacophony of hammering, drilling, and various other work sounds common to an Engineer. Now, however, all she could hear were voices, both male. One was undeniably Milo, but the other...

Was that Laurent?

The Soldier leaned down, picking up a discarded shovel as she passed it, moving close to the door in order to listen to the conversation. Milo sounded almost panicked, but Laurent sounded downright malicious. The Spy barely even seemed the sort to be fighting, let alone sounding genuinely cruel. Something wasn't right here.

Scowling, she stood up and keyed in the code to unlock the door. She wasted no time barging through, holding the shovel up in preparation to attack. And not a moment too soon, she realized. Laurent had Milo by the collar and the engineer had clearly already been roughed up, his glasses skewed and hair a mess, bruises visible on his face. Her wild blue eyes locked on the Spy. "You'd best be dropping him, maggot, or the only white flag waving'll be over your grave."

The Spy gave her a sharp look over his shoulder, and Winifred very nearly shuddered. That look was so could it would have frozen Hell itself. He did release Milo, however, shoving him roughly to the floor. "You are playing a very dangerous game, Winifred. Do you really wish to cross me?"

That gave Winifred pause as she stared down the Spy. Something was very wrong here. She watched the man flip out his balisong, the weapon dancing across the fingers of his left hand as he snapped it into place. Her eyes narrowed. "Danger has never been an issue to me, Frenchy. I eat danger for breakfast, daring for lunch, and the piss scared souls of flag-waving cowards like you for dinner."

An urge to fight was rising in her. Not only had this son of a bitch called her out, but he had attacked Milo in the process. No one went after Milo. Anyone who dared was asking for a beating.

The Spy was still watching her. What was he waiting for? "Hmph. Stubborn woman." He spun the blade in his hand casually. "Do you mean to kill me?"

"No," Winifred growled in reply. "I intend to remind you that if you had your shriveled little heart set on tricking us into infighting, you sorry RED piece of shit, you've got another thing coming!"

Milo's expression was shocked. "Winnie...? That's not a RED, that's Laurent!"

But the woman shook her head. "I pay attention to my team, Milo. Our Spy's a slacker and unreliable as hell, but he's not a lefty." Grinning, she nodded toward where the man held his knife. "Sloppy."

Snorting, the Spy flipped the knife to his other hand. "You were saying? Per'aps aside from being mentally challenged as far as your sanity, you are also an idiot!"

That did it. Frustrated and already itching for a fight, Winifred lunged at the Spy, taking a swing at him with the shovel. He ducked away gracefully, sidestepping before sticking out a foot to trip the flailing Soldier. She did tumble, but she managed to climb back to her feet quickly and lunge again. "Get back here!"

"Such a temper," chided the Spy, clicking his tongue. "It is most unattractive."

Winifred cursed, trying another swing as the Spy again stepped aside. "Go to hell!"

The fair-haired man shook his head, instinctively switching the hand with which he held the blade. In that same movement, he jammed the blade into the woman's left side. "Unlikely, you psychopazhic cow."

He was jerking the blade free as Winifred staggered to the side, gripping the wound. "Oh, I am going to kick your ass so hard that your great-grandchildren will be in traction!"

The stab was all it took. Triggered by the blood on the blade, the disguise was melting away, and Milo – previously nearly frozen to the spot as he watched the two fight – began to scramble behind a mostly completed sentry gun. Tristan, now fully revealed, sniffed as he watched Winifred try to regain her footing, his attention turned away from the Engineer. "Ugh. I 'ad forgotten 'ow difficult you Soldiers are to kill."

"Oh, I'll show you just how tough we really are," Winifred growled.

The small space made it difficult for the Spy to maneuver away from the next few strikes, and at least one clipped his shoulder. He lashed back with fierce strikes, busting the woman's lip and nailing her more than once in the stomach.

It was taking more time than Tristan felt he had to get the woman down, and he was starting to get annoyed. His disguise failed the moment he let his temper get the better of him, failing to remember in a moment of rage that the disguise kit only functioned so long as no blood touched his weapons. The initial plan to have BLU turn against their young Spy was clearly not going to work, and on top of that, he'd broken an unspoken rule of the conflict: the time between actual fights was clandestine. There was no blood shed between them during these brief times of rest.

He was panting when Winifred finally hit the floor, lip bloody and one eye black, stab wound angry and damp on her side... but she was still struggling to get back up, growling at him. "Y-you... you rifle-dropping coward..."

Tristan growled down at her, turning as he whipped out a black cloth to clean the blade of his balisong. "You should stay down if you know what is good for you."

Winifred grinned at him when he said that, spitting out blood before laughing. "What? Afraid that now that we know the truth, you won't have a job?" Tristan's eyes widened. "That's right, French fry. We saw the intelligence. I got a feeling you're actin' alone, too. Intel's Spy told us it was our boy's idea to look and talk about a cease-fire... and he's the one you're tryin' to get us up in arms against. Seems like a pretty interesting coincidence, doesn't it?" The Spy was paling. "Am I wrong?"

The man in the red suit scowled nastily down at the bleeding woman. "What I zhink is zhat you talk too much."

He was reaching for his revolver when all at once, the sentry gun Milo had jumped behind sprang to life. Tristan had to move quickly to avoid being shot, bolting out the door swiftly. With the Spy gone, Milo rushed to the Soldier's side, but Winifred was just grinning. "I think I hit that particular nail right on the head. "Milo, get Hans, and then find me Chester and Michel. I think I'm ready to talk."

* * *

For several minutes after finding the bloody script on the wall, Laurent had stood rooted to the spot. He felt like he had frozen, unable to tear his gaze from the carefully written message; just two words that served as the final proverbial nail in the coffin. It almost felt like he couldn't breathe. Bailey... was dead? It hurt just to think that. It hurt more than he thought anything ever could.

Then, all at once, there was nothing. Anger, devastation, emptiness... all of them peaked. White hot rage boiled over, and the young Spy was overtaken by an eerie sense of calm. Tristan had wanted a monster. He had pushed and abused him, needled him, and now, he had taken away the one person in the world who soothed him and made him feel loved.

Well. If Tristan had wanted a monster, that was exactly what he would get.

He didn't hesitate. All but flying down the ladder, he started looking again, spending what felt like hours in a tireless search for the RED Spy. He eventually found himself in a shady spot out of view of either side, scowling. There wasn't enough time to be fooling with this! He was just about to turn to head for another area to search when he heard footsteps fast approaching. He couldn't possibly be this lucky, could he?

It was, at least, worth checking out. Cloaking out of sight, he slipped aside, watching in the direction the footsteps were coming from until a tall figure dressed in red rounded the corner, looking furious and a little beaten up. No less fighting fit, however. Tristan was still clearly on top of his game, and Laurent realized he would have to be more careful than he'd expected.

Tristan was nearly upon him when he struck, uncloaking as he stepped out just far enough to clothesline the other Spy, expression blank as the other man gave a startled yell, feet flying out from beneath him. He gasped as he hit the ground, head bouncing sharply off the dirt. "Ah! What zhe 'ell...?" Blinking away the fog from the fall, he glared up, surprised to see Laurent's cold blue eyes looking right back at him. "Laurent...? Aha... _it would appear you found my little present. Did you like it? I had ever so much fun making everything presentable._"

Laurent just narrowed his eyes. "_Get up._"

"_Demanding little minx, aren't we?_" Tristan snorted, but he was already pulling to his feet. "_I do think my present did the trick. I hope you see now. Nothing is forever except your legacy, Laurent. What I did to that man is nothing less than what you should 'ave done yourself._"

He should have been paying closer attention. Through his whole tirade, Laurent had been pacing, circling the other Spy, expression tight. At his last words, the younger man lashed out with a powerful right hook, catching Tristan's nose squarely with the strike. Fragile cartilage gave way with little resistance, and the older Spy gave a sharp yell of pain upon impact. "_What you did, Tristan, was rip out any hope I had of ever being happy. You wanted me to be like you. To be heartless, unfeeling, __and cruel._"

Tristan spat harshly, blood flowing over his lips and down his chin from his broken nose. "_Clearly only the cruel part stuck. I should 'ave ruined you when I 'ad the chance, but then, I suppose it is like how the Americans say it... no time like the present!_"

On a better day, he may have had the upper hand. He would not have underestimated his former apprentice or given him space to consider a course of action. It was not, however, a better day... and Laurent was a man entirely driven by pain and grief.

The fair-haired BLU Spy danced gracefully to the side of the first blow, expression dark and cold. "_And what is it you plan to do to me, Tristan? Rape me again? Because clearly that worked so well the last time._" He took a step back, grabbing Tristan's arm as he rushed him, using the bigger man's momentum to send him stumbling on past. "_There is nothing more you can do to me to fill me with that much hate. You stole what innocence I had left when I was a boy. Tried to turn me into a monster, just like you. I became a killer, true... but I still had a conscience. I was still human. But oh... oh, you could not tolerate that. I'm sure that given the opportunity, you would have chased me down and torn that last bit of me out by force. That last piece of my soul you did not tarnish!_"

Tristan began to back away. The man before him was not the man he had bullied and pushed. This was a creature consumed by rage and loss. He had cut the line he needed to cut... but he had pulled too hard on what was left. "_Now, Laurent, let's discuss this like reasonable gentlemen... we are of the same mold, you and I. You told me how your mother was. I gave you your life!_"

"_Lies!_" Laurent was shouting now, grabbing the RED Spy by the collar to jerk him close. "_We are nothing alike! Do you hear me? Nothing! My mother has nothing to do with this!_"

In his moment of rage, he let down his guard. Tristan scowled, then brought up his hand to slam his fist hard into the younger Spy's jaw, snapping his head back and breaking his grip on his lapel. He brought his other hand next, fist connecting sharply with Laurent's chin and lower lip. As he staggered back, Tristan drew himself straight. "Y_ou impertinent little brat! After everything I did for you! This is how you repay me?_"

Laurent shook his head, momentarily dazed as he lifted a trembling hand to his newly split lip. "_You... you have no idea what you have unleashed, Tristan..._"

"_Don't I?_" Tristan growled, wiping some blood from his face. "_What I think I have "unleashed" is a stupid little boy who clearly did not learn his lesson all those years ago!_"

He went to kick Laurent in the stomach, but this time, Laurent caught him, gripping his foot tightly. "_I learned my lesson all right, Tristan,_" he hissed. "_I learned that you behave like a fool when you're angry... and that I can use that against you._"

All at once, he twisted his body sharply, forcing Tristan to turn as well. The man lost his balance, crashing to the ground hard. "_You little son of a bitch... maybe I should send you to join that filthy bushman of yours!_"

He was already trying to climb to his feet, but Laurent was faster, kicking him fiercely in the ribs and sending the other Frenchman sprawling with a hoarse cough. "_You will not talk ill of Bailey in my presence!_" Another kick. "_You are the reason he's dead!_"

Tristan grinned at that, rolling out of the way of the next kick. "_Me? I believe you are sorely mistaken, Laurent. You chose to go to him! You chose to let him fuck you!_" He stood shakily, watching Laurent's face slowly drain of rage, replaced by horror at what the RED Spy was suggesting. "_You let him into your bed, Laurent..._"

"_No..._"

"_You so foolishly let him into your heart..._"

"_No! Stop this! Shut up!_"

But Tristan wasn't stopping, grinning madly. Behind his back, he began to flip out his balisong. "_If you had killed him and done as you knew you should have, you would have spared him such pain!_" Laurent was shaking his head, backing away until a nearby wall kept him from going any further. "_Face it, Laurent. You are the catalyst._" He was closing on Laurent now, smirking as the smaller Spy shook his head fiercely. "_You are the reason for all this pain._" With a predatory smile, he pressed his body up against Laurent's, bringing the blade up to the BLU's throat. "_It's all right to feel lost. But I'll teach you to be able to let go. I will show you how to be the greatest killer the world has ever known. I will teach you to forget ties... to kill others and make it so someone else takes the fall... just how my father is in prison for the death of my mother._"

Laurent froze. Not only was this man a depraved sociopath, but he had killed his own mother and framed his father for the crime? Did he intend to teach Laurent this "emptiness" the same way? He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Now, more than ever, he knew. If not for revenge over what he had done to Bailey, and to Laurent as a boy, but for all the atrocities he had ever committed and would surely commit again if he was left to live. Tristan needed to be stopped, at any cost.

"_I... I understand._" The young Spy's voice shook with emotion, but he hoped Tristan would mistake it for the trembling words of a broken man. "_L-let me up... I'll... I'll do whatever you say..._"

Though the older man looked wary for a moment, he finally did smirk with a short laugh. "_I'm glad to see you've come to your senses, Laurent. You are far too valuable for me to kill._" He withdrew the blade from Laurent's throat, grinning. "_You are a smart boy. I am very glad to see that._"

The retraction of the blade was exactly what Laurent was looking for. As soon as there was no risk of his neck getting sliced open with the reckless move he was about to attempt, Laurent snapped his head forward, forehead connecting hard with Tristan's already broken nose. The other Spy howled in rage and agony, clutching his face as he staggered back, turning away from the angry young man in blue. Laurent took the opportunity to kick the back of his tormentor's knees, causing him to stumble and drop. As Tristan scrambled to regain his footing, Laurent walked around him quickly, drawing his revolver. When the RED Spy looked up, the business end was right between his eyes.

"_You made me beg you to release me when I was a boy, Tristan,_" the young Frenchman was saying, voice hollow and cold despite his quiet tone. "_I suppose the tables have turned. You attacked me, tried to break me, took away the one stable thing in my life... all in an attempt to turn me into you. Into a monster._" He cocked the hammer back on the revolver, narrowing icy blue eyes. "_Well. Looks like you succeeded. Are you happy? Was it worth this? Was it worth the torture, the pain, and the lies? Was it wort killing Bailey?_"

Tristan swallowed hard, trying to force a smile. "_Come now, Laurent, be reasonable-_"

He was cut off by Laurent waving the pistol menacingly. "_Shut up. We are past reasonable. Do you want to live, Tristan?_" When the older man nodded, shaky, Laurent lowered his voice. "_Then beg me. Beg me like you forced me to when I was too young and stupid to fight back._"

The man's pride was clearly warring with his sense of self-preservation. He scowled at Laurent, blue eyes dark, lips drawn into a tight line. Him? Tristan Malveaux? Forced to beg like a common thug? In the end, however, his will to live won and he closed his eyes, frowning. "_Please, Laurent._"

"_That is hardly begging,_" Laurent sniffed. "_Louder, Tristan. With more feeling._"

Again, Tristan scowled. "_Please, Laurent!_" He was louder now, almost desperate, though his jaw was clenched. "_Please let me live!_"

Laurent's lip twitched. He walked around behind the older Spy, and watched Tristan's shoulders relax when he carefully disengaged the hammer on his pistol. "_Very good, Tristan. You are learning. There may be hope for you yet._" His words echoed the same ones Tristan had murmured to him all those years ago, and he almost felt sick saying them. Finally, he leaned down, nearly whispering into the older Spy's ear. "_But... I do think you forgot something._"

His elder sneered. "_And what would that be?_"

There was a brief pause. "_Begging... never changed your mind._"

Tristan had no time to react. Laurent's hands grasped his head and, just as the other man began to try to struggle against the inevitable, he twisted hard. There was a sharp, sickening crack as Tristan's neck snapped, and Laurent watched wordlessly as his body slumped to the ground, unmoving. He was dead.

For several moments, Laurent just stared at the older man's body. He had always assumed that should he have the chance to kill the man who had tortured him so much, it would bring some sense of peace. Instead, he just felt empty. His hands shook as he stood straight, and as feeling started to seep back in, he felt overwhelmed. Tristan was dead, but that hadn't changed all the pain he had experienced, and the torment the deceased had put so many others through.

Quietly, he slumped back against the wall, his whole frame starting to tremble now. Oh, he had killed before. This was nothing new. But something about this time seemed different. There was blood in his hair now, and on his gloves and suit, but he wasn't thinking about that. All of this, and he still felt like he had failed. Slowly, he slid down the wall to sit on the ground, ripping off his kidskin gloves to fling them angrily at the corpse of the man who had haunted his nightmares for years.

Then, after several moments of letting the terrible truth sink in, he buried his face in his hands, and for the first time in almost ten years, he wept.

* * *

It had been a tense few hours. Molly sat with her shoulder touching Flynn's, watching the Sniper's face. As was usually the case in very stressful situations, he was silent, but his expression spoke volumes of grief and worry. Bailey was lucky to ave been found in the nest, and Viktor had informed them rather grimly that any longer up there and he wouldn't have survived. The Medigun had stopped the bleeding, but there was still work to be done, and it was now a guessing game as to whether or not the man would pull through.

She frowned, staring down at her hands. She had very little personal experience with the older Sniper, unlike Jenny, who had worked with him before. All she had to go on was Flynn's description of a patient, thoughtful man who had taught him how to track unseen, how to shoot, and how to wait patiently in silence for that perfect moment. Flynn loved and respected his other brother, and it was clear that being in this position was tearing him apart. The small Pyro was just about to speak up and try to cheer the Sniper somehow, but a sudden commotion caught her attention. "What is that...?"

Craning to one side to get a better look, Molly was rather surprised to find two BLU Soldiers, an Engineer, and a Medic heading for their position, flanked by Perry and Point's Soldier, Perry. She did recognize the one BLU Soldier. That was Chester, Intel's old Cavalryman. She didn't recognize any of the other faces, but seeing Rob and Perry talking with them in earnest, and all of them looking very serious...

Flynn was looking in that direction as well now, eyes narrowed and whole frame tensed up. He was already on the defensive, as was she, but when Perry's hand went up to them, both blinked, staring until he started to talk. "I don't have a whole lot of time to explain right now, but... it's all right. We've been in talks while they've been working on Bailey... we're calling a cease-fire. I can't really explain too much right now. We need to get this young lady laying down first, but we'll be having a debriefing for everyone later. For all the teams."

The second BLU Soldier, a woman with a long blond braid, snorted indignantly at that. The point Engineer and Rob were both helping her walk, and it was clear she had taken quite a beating. "Feh. I coulda taken him if he wasn't such a slimy son of a bitch..."

As the group continued on, both molly and Flynn watched with surprised expressions. A cease-fire with BLU? A permanent one? Molly pursed her lips, then stood. "Flynn, I'll be right back. Just holler if Vikky says anything about your brother, okay?"

She didn't wait for a reply. She just jogged after the retreating figures, hoping to call Rob aside and get some answers. Unfortunately, she didn't get far. A broad-shouldered figure in a crisp blue suit materialized in front of her, his eyes tired and worn behind carefully maintained dark hair. He gave her a charming smile even as she recoiled with a startled sound. "'ello, Molly. Always a pleasure to see your face."

It was all she could do not to hit the man who was a perpetual thorn in her side, but something about his forlorn expression caught her somewhat off-guard. "...what do you want, Michel?"

"As you can already see, we are not 'ere to fight you, my dear. I know you and I 'ave never been on zhe best of terms, but I assure you, I intend no ill zhis day. I need to ask somezhing of you." She gave him a skeptical look, and he responded with a tired smile. "I 'ave been trying very 'ard to keep track, but... I wanted to know if zhere is anozher young BLU Spy waiting wizh you to see Bailey."

Molly drew up, frowning sharply at the Spy. "You mean Point's Spy? Of course not! If I'd have seen him, I woulda toasted him personally!"

Michel paused as the girl glared up at him, expression distinctly puzzled. "You seem a bit more vehement about zhat zhan to 'ave come to zhis conclusion for zhe obvious reasons. Why?"

"He's the one that attacked Cat, Idelia, and Bailey!" Molly snapped back, frowning deeply. "It'd be no less than he deserves!"

Both of Michel's eyebrows shot up at that. "Laurent? No, no... zhat cannot be right. Especially not of Bailey. I would bet my life zhat Laurent would turn a gun on 'imself before betraying zhat Sniper."

The small Pyro leaned back, looking utterly baffled now. "Why in the world would he be that interested in Bailey staying in one piece?"

"It would take a long time to explain. But... 'e is zhe one who came up wizh zhe idea of a cease-fire. Zhe intelligence is junk, ma cher... and Laurent wanted everyone to know. 'e wanted to end zhe fighting." He reached into his breast pocket, withdrawing his cigarette case. "I know you 'ave no reason to trust me, but believe me. No one wanted to avoid furzher bloodshed more zhan zhat young man- oh. 'ello zhere."

He was bringing his cigarette up to his lips as Molly spun to see who had caught his attention. Viktor was approaching from behind her, wearing a genuinely frustrated scowl. "Bailey is stable, but still unconscious. His brozher is vizh him. However... my sister is avake. No BLU Spy attacked her. According to her, it was Tristan... RED Point's Spy."

Michel frowned, lighting his cigarette. "Zhat one was tricky. I never got too much information out of my sources on 'im. Razher crass of 'im to attack 'is own teammate, 'owever."

"Much as I hate to admit it, the obnoxious Frenchy here has a point," Molly agreed. "She's sure it was Tristan?"

Viktor gave an indignant sniff, clearly not pleased with the news he had discovered. "Apparently she had spoken vizh zhe BLU Spy shortly before she vas attacked. She vas zhe one who reported zhe nature of zhe intelligence to Rob und Perry, und it vas apparently zhat young Spy who told her to find zhe intelligence in zhe first place. Michel is not lying. It is not zhis Laurent ve should be hunting. It is zhis Tristan Malveaux."

"I 'ave a feeling zhat won't be necessary." Michel's voice was low, but there was a worried, haunted look about him now. For all Molly had ever seen him, playful and cheery, it was almost unnerving to see him so distraught now. "Laurent is a very brash young man... at least zhat is what I 'ave gazhered. We need to find 'im if we want to find Monsieur Malveaux." He looked over at Molly. "I 'ate to ask such an odd zhing of you, but eizher of zhese men will be excedingly 'ard to find. It will take me too long to get to Blaise, and you are an excellent Spy checker. Will you accompany me to find 'im?"

Though Molly was giving him a skeptical look, she did finally sigh and nod. "I guess as a Pyro, I do have an advantage there. Okay, yeah. Sure. Fine. Where should we start?"

Michel sighed at that and shook his head. "Zhat, my dear... we will 'ave to, as you say in America, play by ear."

* * *

Laurent wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there. He had stopped crying some time ago, now just staring blankly at Tristan's corpse. He could end this all himself, of course, but what good would that do? He desperately wanted to see this whole thing through to the end. Bailey would want him to. But what then? He had nowhere to go. His reason for wanting to end all this was gone, killed by the man who had worked so hard to ruin his life.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands again, shoulders jerking with a dry sob. There was too much to think about right now. Too much... so much to think about. He wished there was a better way to clear his head, but he just felt empty if he tried. Bailey wouldn't want him to give up without a fight, but he had fought, hadn't he? He had fought Tristan, the cause for this whole mess, and though he had killed him, Tristan had won in the end. He had taken away the last bit of Laurent that still felt human.

So what would he do now? He looked down at the pistol he had dropped in the commotion, fingers curling. It could be so simple.

He scowled, but before he could make up his mind, he heard the sound of voices coming from nearby, growing ever closer to his position. What rounded the corner was a tiny little auburn-haired Pyro in full gear save her mask, looking around with a worried expression, flamethrower held at the ready. Laurent just huffed and turned away. As the girl came into earshot, he began to speak. "If you 'ave come to kill me, please do it quickly. I 'ave little patience for dallying."

Molly blinked, but she didn't reply to him at first, just staring at the corpse of RED Point's Spy. "...um... I... I'm not here to kill you. I came to find you. Michel is... somewhere. Are... are you okay?"

The Spy snorted. "Do I look as zhough I am okay to you?"

"Hey, I'm just tryin' to be nice. I, uh... I see you solved our problem." She was clearly trying to avoid going anywhere near Tristan's body. "Look, uh... the teams are all meeting up at the shack for a debriefing on this whole ceasefire. Your plan worked, yeah? Why don't you come back with me?"

Laurent's expression darkened further at the suggestion. "I 'ave nozhing to go back to zhere, young lady. My reason for fighting at all is dead."

His words finally drew Michel out of hiding, as the Spy uncloaked next to Molly, his expression clearly concerned. "Laurent... Bailey is not dead. Zhe Medic said 'e is stable for now. Just unconscious."

Molly blinked, looking back and forth between the two. "Look, Michel, I still don't get why that's even a valid argument here. I mean, I know you said that he was interested in keeping Bailey okay, but he..." She looked back over at Laurent, staring for a moment at his expression. All at once, he had gone from bitter and cold to uncertainly hopeful. The light came on. "...oh. OH. Oh my. Uh... he... he's telling the truth, you know. Bailey's alive!"

Slowly, shakily, the fair-haired man stood. He looked as though he had very little strength to hold his feet, and Molly was relieved when Michel moved forward to brace him. His expression was surprisingly soft... much more fatherly than molly ever thought he was capable of looking. For all the hell he had given her and Flynn, she found herself holding a glimmer of respect for him. He gave her a little smile, then gently patted Laurent's shoulder. "Come along, young man. Let's get you 'ome."

* * *

Looking back on the events that followed, Laurent would one day find it amusing how confused the faces around him looked. A tentative mix of people, dressed in red or blue, milling around and talking in hushed tones, introducing themselves warily. It was as though they feared speaking in the wrong tone of voice would cause their former enemies to turn on them again. For now, however, he was drained and weary as he was helped past a wary group of REDs, enduring the harsh glare of a Sniper who looked so much like a thinner, more gaunt version of Bailey that he could be no one else than his brother. Michel looked at none of them, holding a brief conversation with Hans, standing along-side RED Intel's Medic, before taking him into a room to the side.

After Laurent was deposited in a nearby chair, the older Spy departed, leaving the young man alone with the injured Sniper, staring at Bailey where he lay. The older man was breathing, broad chest rising and falling slowly beneath the cotton sheet. He had been shot, he had heard them say. Once in the knee, twice in the stomach. A thick bandage over his hand covered the damage inflicted with one of his arrows. The young Frenchman's heart was in his throat. "Oh, mon loup..." he murmured. "I am so... so sorry. I brought zhis upon you." He reached out, gently stroking the back of Bailey's unbandaged hand with his fingertips. "Please be all right."

The Sniper did not stir, but Laurent didn't care. Bailey was still alive, right now, and that was at least somewhat reassuring. He settled in for the wait, looking up when the door swung open. It was the lanky Sniper from before, his dark hair mussed and expression severe. "So. Vik tells me you're not the son of a bitch what attacked my big brother here."

"I'm not. You must be Flynn, zhen? You seem more talkative zhan 'e described, zhough Bailey 'as talked about you at length. You 'ave a very good brozher." Laurent stood up, facing the young man. Flynn did not look convinced. "I know... I know. But... listen, I know zhis is going to sound odd. I love your brozher, dearly. 'e is... very important to me. Zhe man who did zhis to 'im, Tristan Malveaux, is dead."

Flynn gave him a speculative look, frowning deeply. "...Bailey mentioned him, in one of his letters. Called him a two-faced snake... didn't trust him one bit." He sighed, and all at once, the young man seemed to deflate. "This was a lot easier when things were just... well... black and white, I guess. Now it's not so simple." He paused. "Last letter I got 'fore the bug-out... he said he'd found somebody. Never thought it'd be... I mean, not that there's anythin' wrong with that so long as he's happy, but... I just... I never expected..."

"Your brozher's lover to be a man. It is all right... I understand. It is a razher... unusual situation. I understand zhis."

The two men fell silent, watching the still form of the wounded Sniper. It was clear that Flynn was uncomfortable with the situation as a whole, and Laurent doubted he truly believed the Spy's claim. A Spy had attacked Bailey, after all. It would seem far more logical for the assailant to have been BLU rather than RED. He didn't seem to want to act, though. Perhaps he wanted to wait to get the whole story directly from his brother.

The younger Sniper did sit down, though, opting to wait with Laurent as opposed to elsewhere. Not that he blamed him one bit. If it was his brother, he'd be doing the same thing.

Close to two hours had passed. Flynn was about ready to nod off, slumped to the side in his chair, but Laurent was still wide awake. Fortunate, as Bailey was beginning to stir, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter before opening them, just slightly. Laurent jerked forward, instinctively elbowing Flynn to wake him.

Bailey was looking around tiredly now, barley moving his head. His sun darkened skin was somewhat pale, giving him an almost sickly appearance, but he smiled when he saw the two men watching him with mixed expressions of concern and relief. When he finally found the strength to speak, his voice was weak but steady. "Hey, joey... kinda surprised t'see you and spooky getting' along..."

"...spooky?" Flynn was looking at Laurent now, the smallest of smiles finally twitching at the corners of his lips. "Really?"

Laurent's ears went red. "It is a pet name. From me being a "spook," I suppose."

The wounded Sniper smiled faintly at the pair. "Don't tease, little brother. You're both awroight, yeah? Tristan didn't do neither of ya no harm?"

Flynn shook his head, shoulders finally drooping as the truth came out. "No. No, we... well, I'm fine, at least. Been with Moll since Jenny found ya. Spy here showed up after."

It was only then that Laurent realized just how awful he must've looked. There was likely blood on his face from headbutting Tristan, and his lower lip was throbbing and likely bloody as well. He furrowed his brow, then smiled weakly. "'e did not lay a finger on me."

Not technically a lie, he reasoned, as Tristan had only punched him and kicked him, then put a blade to his throat. The majority of the contact had been his own doing, breaking and killing the other Spy. Neither Flynn nor Bailey looked convinced. Quite the opposite, in fact, and Bailey frowned, looking at his younger brother. "Mind givin' us a moment, joey?"

Flynn gave a nod, pushing to his feet. He said nothing, just reaching over to gently squeeze Bailey's shoulder before slipping out, letting the door close behind him. The older Sniper then returned his attention to the Spy, expression sharp." C'mon over here, spooky. Sit with me."

Tentative, Laurent stepped over, tensing briefly when Bailey cupped his chin with his uninjured hand, examining the damage done to Laurent's lip with squinted eyes. Then he tipped up the younger man's head, looking quietly at the thin red line where the blade had just barely cut his skin. "I... it's nozhing, loup..."

"Nothin'. Gonna hafta call yer bluff on that." He sighed, releasing Laurent to rest that hand on the Spy's thigh. "He told me, y'know... when he came after me. He told me what he did t'you, when you were a kid." Laurent frowned, immediately shying away at that, but Bailey caught his arm. "He told me... but that didn't scare me off. He was plannin' to do it again. Looks like you got out all right, save a few bumps. Hafta be careful of your lip." He smiled, but when Laurent did not return the gesture, he sighed. "...where is he now?"

Laurent tensed. "He's dead." Slowly, he shook his head. "I killed 'im. Snapped 'is neck. I just... don't understand." He looked back at Bailey, pale eyes glistening with fresh tears. "Zhe man who 'as 'aunted my nightmares for ten years is dead. I am zhe one who took 'is life." As he spoke, tears began to trickle onto his cheeks, shoulders starting to tremble. "So why is it I feel more lost zhan ever?"

As he spoke, Bailey's expression grew even more concerned. At last, though, he reached up, gently brushing away a few of his tears before slipping that hand behind his neck to pull him down. "Oh, Spooky..." He gave a sigh once their foreheads were touching. "Ain't no rush in you sortin' this out. You've done good. We've got some time... and I'm right here. Take all the time you need."

At first, Laurent said nothing. Then, quietly, he settled down beside the sniper, burying his face against the older man's shoulder. Maybe it would take a while... but somehow, he had a feeling it would all turn out all right.

* * *

Within a few days, as the dust cleared, things were starting to clear up. All the teams were debriefed as the Engineers from all the teams went around disabling any surveillance and alarm software they could find, making sure the speakers were taken down as well. The Pyros and the Demomen, those on the RED team in particular, had a blazing, explosive send-off for Tristan's remains, though for some, that did not settle the distress some of those assaulted by the man felt. Idelia spent most of her time in the company of Artyom, who was loathe to leave her side for fear yet another horrible accident would befall her. Cat refused to let others linger long, not speaking even when her closest friends tried to get her to. Laurent stayed at Bailey's side.

As for the Soldiers, they spent their time working out how this would all play through.

It was dusk on one of those days, and Winifred was standing on crutches outside, watching the sun set. She didn't turn when Milo approached, though her eyes shifted when he came up beside her. "You're terrible at sneaking, Milo."

He shrugged. "Wasn't trying to sneak. You look like you've got a lot on your mind, Bear."

"You could say that," the woman responded, watching as one of the Scouts darted past, too fast for her to tell which team they had originally belonged to. "This all feels... surreal, I guess you could say. Like it shouldn't be happening. But... here we are."

Milo gave a little smile, reaching over to push back a few strands of his companion's thick, wavy hair. "I guess things look a little different from this side of the fence. They changed everything. We're not colors and jobs anymore. We're real people with names and families. We're working together now, with a common goal, because one guy hesitated in pulling the trigger." When the Soldier grinned, he smiled a little wider. "What?"

"Just thinking. I guess that Spy wasn't so useless after all."

For several moments, the two went silence, standing in comfortable peace as the sun sank further over the horizon. Finally, as the world began to turn dark around them, Milo spoke up again. "So... what do we do now?"

Winifred pursed her lips, then turned her head to look fully at Milo. "Not sure just yet. But tomorrow's a new day, and we're gonna be ready for it. We're more than thirty strong, and once everyone's had a chance to get their feet under them again? We'll be more than ready to face whatever the "boss" throws at us. I've got a good feeling, Milo. Tomorrow is a brand new day..."

_**END**_

* * *

_**Second Note: **The fic itself is over, but it's not the end of the story. Check out my journal at deviantArt (.com) to find out more about the comic that's going to tell the rest of the story, Awkward Ponies! Thanks for reading!**  
**_


End file.
